


With Love, Simon

by richietozlr



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Drinking, Drug Use, F/M, Football (soccer) matches, Gen, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Pining Simon Snow, Reverse Pining AU, Sloppy Makeouts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-20
Updated: 2019-11-18
Packaged: 2020-07-09 02:16:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 33,641
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19879948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/richietozlr/pseuds/richietozlr
Summary: I’m feeling stupid. I raise my eyebrows at him and give him a lop-sided grin. “What is your type, then?"Baz looks me over.Properlylooks me over.“Hm.” He slides a hand into his pocket. “Not you, Snow.” And although he says that, I don’t believe him.





	1. Chapter 1

**SIMON,** 12:23 PM :  
_I think im in love_  
**PENELOPE,** 12:23 PM :  
_Pay attention in class you horny buffon_

I actually am paying attention despite Penelope’s rude retort. I’m sitting with my jaw in my hand, watching the teacher try to explain the Whigs to a not too receptive student. Honestly, the kid shouldn’t have taken an A-level class if he wasn’t willing to pay attention. God forbid we have to get another passionate lecture about the Whig political programme. But I’m sort of grateful, because while everybody’s focusing on Ms Foster I’m looking at broad shoulders, shiny hair, and tasteful clothing choice.

All said features belong to a certain boy. Honestly, as much as I’d hate to admit it, the only reason I stayed in A-level Comparative Government is because of him. _Him._ Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch. His name is kind of pretentious, and I think he is too, but apparently I’m attracted to it regardless of everything. He’s an asshole and kind of perfect. Football kid (I’ve seen him play on the front and also as goalie. He’s real good.), I think he has some pretty girlfriend I used to have a crush on, and has a proper clique. He’s not very popular but he’s not exactly a nobody.  


He shifts in his seat. I think he turns his head, so I quickly look back at my phone to text Penelope. Only a few more minutes and then the bell will ring. Then I can tell her how fit he is to her face. 

**SIMON,** 12:26 PM :  
_im paying attention_  
_im just also paying attention to him_  
_can you blame a guy_

____

**PENELOPE,** 12:26 PM :  
_As long as you’re passing the class that’s all I care about_

The next four minutes pass too slowly for my liking. But when the bell rings I’m out of the classroom faster than anybody else. I think I hear Ms Foster shout something after me but I don’t care. I’m hungry and in desperate need of Penelope-time. When I spot her sitting at our usual table I let a breath out I hadn’t realized I was holding. She waves me over and I sit next to her. A few tables down I see Agatha Wellbelove. She practically lights up the room. All eyes are on her as she drifts over to a table and sits, probably unpacking some 5-star gourmet lunch for her and her boyfriend. How grossly domestic. 

“Have fun in class?”

“Oodles.” I reply, accepting half of a jelly sandwich. Penelope is my best friend in the entire world and we’ve been inseparable since day one. I love her more than anything and I’m pretty sure she feels the same towards me. If she didn’t she would definitely tell me. Because Penelope is kind of awful with social skills and empathy, so she tends to say whatever is on her mind. Even if it isn’t the nicest thing. It gets her into trouble sometimes, but I think it adds to her charm.

We met in elementary school. I transferred to Watford later in the semester and Penelope was the only one curious enough to spark up a conversation. Thus was the beginning of an epic friendship. She’s my number one -- the first I came out to, my partner-in-crime, and the only one who has ever truly understood me. I would probably kill somebody for her if she asked me to.

“There’s a football match today.” Penny says. Then he walks in with his two lackeys - Dev and Niall I think their names are. His entrance isn’t dramatic nor loud but the second he walks in I swear there’s a hush that falls over the noisy mess hall for a second. Then it’s gone. But I’m still staring at him. “Are we going, then?”

“Yeah.” I exhale when the three sit at Agatha’s table. They look radiant. They’re quite the pair, honestly. The prettiest girl at school with the fittest guy. Fuck. Agatha tosses her hair over her shoulder in a fluid motion. Golden strands fly through the air gracefully. If I wasn’t madly head over heels for Baz I would probably have the hots for Agatha.

She turns and her green eyes meet mine. The corners of her lips perk up into the sweetest of smiles and she waves. I smile and give her a wave back.

“Fraternizing with the enemy.” Penelope _tsk’s_ before biting into her sandwich.

I laugh and nudge her. “I’m not fraternizing with anybody. She’s pretty and waved. So I waved back. It’s only polite, Penny.” I would like to say I don’t spend all of my lunchtime sending occasional glances at Baz. I’d also like to say that when I get up to throw away Penelope’s trash I don’t go to the bin closest to their table. But those two things in particular do happen and I’m only a little ashamed of myself for it.

* * *

  


Football is the only sport our school has any sort of spirit towards. There’s rugby, cross-country, and all sorts of other mid-tier level sports, but football reigns supreme. Our team is undefeated, and tonight’s match is no exception to that streak. The best part about having such an amazing team? They throw the best parties.

Penelope and I are leaning against the rails, watching the match. I’m mostly watching Baz. He puts his hair back into a sort of bun during games. Words cannot describe how much I want to rip out the damned hair tie and just drag my fingers through his gorgeous hair. I bite my lip.

“Hello.” Another person joins Penny and I against the railing. When I look over I instantly recognize it to be Agatha. The tips of her ears and her nose is a gentle pink as the cold nips her pale skin. She must be wearing highlighter or something, because she’s glowing even more up close.

“Hey.” I greet. Penelope only squints next to me. She jams her cat-eyed glasses up and frowns, but also says hello after I give her a look.

Agatha’s slender fingers wrap around the cool steel railing. The overhead lights reflect in her eyes as she takes a look over at Baz and then at us. “We’re throwing a party after this. I hope to see both of you there.” Her hand touches my wrist. She smiles warmly. I realize now she’s rather close to me. I smile, suddenly both nervous and bashful. 

“We’ll be there.” I feel Penelope pinch my side - she dreads house parties - but I ignore her. Agatha stays for a second longer. She parts her lips as if she has something to say, but then she closes her mouth, smiles, and flits away to mingle with other onlookers.  


“I think Baz’s girlfriend is into you.” Penelope says once Agatha is out of ear shot. My face burns and I focus back on the game to see Dev slam a goal from halfway across the field. Some girl next to us cheers loudly.  


“No. She’s with Baz, he’s bloody perfect.” Penny hums thoughtfully. The comment does stick in my head regardless, because Penelope is usually right. She’s too smart for her own good, honestly. It’s another thing that people find unsettling about her. Normally I love it. Today? Not so much.  
Penny crumples up her water bottle as the referees signal the end of the match. She drops it into the bin and in a very flat voice says; “We’ve got a party to attend now, haven’t we?”

* * *

  


I’m pretty sure we’re at Dev’s house. It’s not elegant enough to be what I imagine the Grimm-Pitch manor looks like, but it’s not trashy enough to be Niall’s. Dev lives in a middle-class neighborhood where people have well manicured gardens and probably have picturesque lives. His house is two stories and even though the party only started maybe thirty minutes ago I can already smell weed reeking from the house. The neighbors probably won’t complain, but I can’t imagine Jenny at the next community meeting will be very pleased.  


Penelope is frowning up at the house in front of us. My hands are deep in my leather jacket’s pockets, fingering my phone nervously. It’s not like it’s the first party we’ve ever been to. It’s just the first party we’ve ever been to where we were directly invited. Penny may not care, but my heart is thumping in my chest.  


“Right, well,” She says. I look down at her. “I won’t drink much. I live down the street so we can walk home. All right?” I nod.  


“Don’t accept booze from pretty girls and use protection.” She continues. “If you knock somebody up I _will_ castrate you.”  


“Duly noted.” And I’m smiling at her threat. She narrows her eyes. But I can see a smile threatening to peak out, so I continue beaming at her. I take her hand and pull her forwards. “Well, come on then.”  


There isn’t a bouncer so we barge right in. There’s a small hallway before the room opens up into an open kitchen and living room. Music is blasting from within the hoard of buzzed teenagers and it’s nothing I recognize through the din around us. There are some football players mingling in the living room, but I imagine most are outside smoking. Or upstairs doing something else. Or somebody else.  


I pull Penelope into the kitchen with me and we both nab two empty cups, filling it with something red that’s in a box that smells fruity. We tap our cups against each other with silly grins before taking a sip. Definitely a cheap box wine. Probably from a convenience store. But it’ll do for now; can’t expect too much from these sorts. She has her phone out and I think she’s texting somebody. She nods at her screen before looking up at me and saying “Micah is here too. Do you want to come with me to look for him?” I have to bend down and let her talk directly in my ear. Micah is an American bloke who Penny has had the hots for since they did a chemistry lab together. I can’t say I blame her because he’s gorgeous, smart, and genuinely a nice person. He’s the kind of person who everybody feels comfortable with. Hell, even I feel comfortable with the guy and we’ve only spoken maybe three times ever - not once without Penelope around.  


I let Pen take me by the hand and guide me around the house. When we don’t see tall dark and handsome anywhere in the hoard of kids, we change tactics and decide to move upstairs. There’s some girls sitting on the steps. One of them looks up at me and smiles.  


“Hey, Simon.” She cooes. I wave at her and open my mouth to speak but Penelope is dragging me up the stairs.  


“Hey!”  


“She just wants your dick.” Penelope says. I toss another look back at the girls. She winks up at me but stays put. Niall is on the landing with two other guys. They look like they’re mad stoned, and Niall is gesturing wildly with his hands as if it’ll help get his point across. The other two are focusing more on his flailing than the actual conversation itself.  


“Excuse me, squinties, but either of you seen Micah?” Penelope has no trouble butting right into their conversation. Three pairs of glazed over eyes blink up at her. “You know. Micah, American, tall?”  


“I,” Niall says stupidly.  


“TV room.” One of the stoned blokes says. “Down the hall to the… Left? Left. Can’t miss it.”  


“Cheers.” Penelope says. She doesn’t bother to look if I’m following. It’s fine because of course I’m following - I always follow her. We pass a few more clearly stoned kids before stepping into what I assume is the TV room. Called the TV room most likely because of the fact it’s a personal movie theater. Rich kids.  


“Pen! Simon!” Micah is sprawled out on the floor, long legs taking up a majority of the space. Penelope pushes her solo cup into my hand and climbs over one of the chairs to get to him. “Didn’t know you guys were coming.”  


“I invited them.” I look to the side and see them. Agatha and Baz. Agatha is sitting on the arm of Baz’s chair, body angled away from him. She’s wearing a soft pink dress and holding her own cup delicately. She’s smiling again. I watch as she tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. Every movement she makes is deliberately graceful. No wonder half the school is in love with her. No wonder _Baz_ is in love with her. I chance a look at him. He’s sitting, ankle on one knee, completely closed inwards. He doesn’t look interested in what’s happening around him in the slightest, and isn’t even giving Agatha the time of day. Something deep inside me sparks happily, but another part of me frowns at the thought of Agatha being mistreated. Baz’s hair is slicked back like it normally is. He’s in normal clothes instead of jersey and shorts - shirt unbuttoned three buttons. I want to touch the birthmark on his collarbone. He looks good and he knows he looks good. I’m lucky that he’s looking at his phone and can’t see me practically drooling over him.  


“You look good, Simon.” Agatha is standing now. I don’t know when she did that. She’s leaning against the wall besides me. I smile and put Penelope’s cup carefully on a counter. Then I’m running my fingers through my hair, bashful.  


“I, uh. Um.” My face is burning. I don’t get complimented often. Especially not by pretty girls with gorgeous boyfriends. “Thanks. I mean-- You too. You also look good.” Agatha’s smile is way too contagious for her own good. Her eyes have a glint of amusement to them. I feel as if I’m getting caught in some sort of game or plot. My hand slides down to my neck and I look over at Penelope. She’s curled up against Micah’s side. I think they’re passing a joint back and forth, talking in hushed tones. They’re in their own world right now, and although I’m a little jealous I feel a softness in my heart. 

Perhaps later they’ll finally end up together. Then Penelope for once will thank me for dragging her out of her comfort zone.Penelope blows smoke into the air, then looks over her shoulder at me. She stretches her hand out to me. All of her tension seems to be gone. I smile at Agatha again then allow Penelope to pull me down to the ground with her. I’m trying my best not to look over where Baz is sitting. Every atom in my being is practically screaming to _look at him_ and just drink him up as much as I possibly can. It’s not every day I get to be in the same room as Basilton Grimm-Pitch. I desperately want to make it count. But I can’t. I have to steel my gaze on Penelope and Micah. Because Baz has a pretty girlfriend. Because Baz is very straight and very cool and I’m dangerously close to him.  


“How you been, Micah?” I try to be casual. I can see Baz out of the corner of my eye. I think he’s watching us. There’s a jolt up my spine at the thought of it.  


“Awesome,” He replies. “You watch the soccer game?” Americans.  


“Yeah.” I swear I see Baz move ever so slightly. “We watch them often.” I pause. Is that giving too much away? Jesus Christ and Mary this is goddamn annoying. “School spirit and all. Yay.”  


“Simon used to play.” Penelope covers for me. She’s right - I did play football for a little bit. I wasn’t as invested in the competition, though. I wanted to do it for fun while everybody else wanted to win. Not my style. I’m too competitive everywhere else in my life. Instead sometimes Penelope and I go to a park late at night and kick a ball around. She’s lovely for enabling me. Micah taps the fading joint and grins. He has deep dimples in his cheeks.  


“Did you? Why’d you stop?”  


I shrug. It’s kind of embarrassing to admit that I stopped just because I didn’t want to compete.  


“I remember you.”  


I swear my heart stops for a second. It’s only in my head, but the air in the room gets sucked out. He’s like a beacon in the dark; the second he opens his mouth the three of us look at him. He always commands attention. Always owning the room.  


I realize Agatha has gone off somewhere now. Probably left when I went to Penny.  


“You were good at defence.” Baz says. I think I can hear the blood rushing in my head. “Left field. I remember.” He’s resting his head on his hand as if he didn’t completely rock my world. I want to both snog him and beat him up. (I should really work out my feelings for him.)  


“Damn good.” Penelope finishes, proud. I feel her nails dig into my side as if I wasn’t already freaking out internally.  


Micah’s oblivious. He’s grinning, suddenly invested. “Yeah?! Si, you’ve got to play with me eventually.” I laugh and slump against the sofa we’re leaning against. I don’t realize that I’ve left myself completely open to Baz.  


Penelope plucks the joint out of Micah’s hand. “We go to the park at night sometimes. He’ll kick the ball around, chasing after it like some excited puppy. I do homework. It’s nice.”  


The stench of marijuana is kind of starting to hurt my head. That and the overstimulation, so I get to my feet. “Well, I’m going to catch some air. You guys will be here?” Penelope nods. Micah gives me a thumbs up, then the two lean back into each other as if I was never there.  


I slide my hands into my pockets as I duck out of the TV room. I move out of the way for some guy desperate for a bathroom, then pass Niall and his two mates again. The girls who were occupying the stairs earlier are gone, instead a pile of empty cups remain in the wake. I roll my eyes and kick them over. The cups rattle to the ground but the noise is lost in the pounding bass of some overplayed song. Somebody is coming in as I exit. We exchange a nod. The cold air outside hits my burning skin and I sigh in relief. I don’t get overstimulated often. Must be an off night for me, I suppose. There’s nobody on the porch thankfully, so I can lean against the wooden banister in peace. Well, as much peace as I can get.  


I’m doing my best to tune out the loud music. I get pretty good at it too until the door opens again. Probably some poor chick about to hurl all over the garden. Dev will have fun with that in the morning.  


But that doesn’t happen. Instead I see Baz. He’s got his hand cupped near his face. I realize that he’s lighting a cig. Didn’t take him as the smoking type. He finds a spot on the railing. He isn’t next to me, not really. He’s far enough apart where we aren’t together. But it’s close enough in my mind. I’ve got blessed luck today.  


“You fancy Wellbelove?” Baz says. He looks at me from the corner of his eye. I bristle up instinctively.  


“What? No. You come out here to pick a fight, then?”  


Baz scoffs. A bit of his perfect hair falls into his stupid perfect face and I watch as his perfect hand drags it smoothly back into place. “No. I could care less what she does or who she fancies.” I blink stupidly. “We’re not _together._ ” Why is he telling me this? We’ve never spoken before - there’s no incentive for him to tell me that he’s single.  


I’m swallowing a lump the size of Ireland in my throat. “I-- Um. You’re not?”  


“No. For Crowley’s sake, no.” I think he’s sneering. He said he wasn’t here for a fight but I don’t think I trust him. “Not my type.”’  


I’m feeling stupid. I raise my eyebrows at him and give him a lop-sided grin. “What is your type, then?” I’m proud at how caught off guard that makes him. I’ve never seen him fumbling before. It’s a good look on somebody who is too cocky for their own good. I’d gladly take him down a few pegs.  


He recomposes himself quickly. He extinguishes the cigarette on the banister (it’s probably alright; he is Dev’s mate.) and examines me. He’s taller than me- not by much, mind you, but it is a good three inches. I don’t stop grinning like an idiot.  


Baz looks me over. Properly _looks me over._ Like when chicks on TV look a bloke up and down. I feel his gaze burning across my whole body. He’s slowly dragging his eyes up me, and when our eyes meet I use every ounce of self-control in my body to not jump his bones.  


“Hm.” He slides a hand into his pocket. “Not you, Snow.” And although he says that, I don’t believe him. Not after the way he looked at me. Not after the way his pupils are slightly blown and there’s the _smallest_ of smirks on his face. I’m fucked.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Baz and Simon talk during school.

That night instead of gushing to Penelope, she’s gushing to me. Or, really, as much as somebody like her can gush. Apparently she and Micah have a date scheduled for Saturday.  
  
“Took him long enough to ask.” She had said. “Not that he _had_ to ask first, I suppose. But I do feel rather special that he did. Ask first, I mean.” Then she had crawled into my arms and wiggled around happily. It was out of character, yet cute.  
  
I’m texting Micah while walking to Gov:  
  
**MICAH,** 11:45 AM :  
_im just worried she wont like it_  
_you know how picky her movie taste is_  
  
****SIMON,** 11:45 AM :  
** _i know all too well mate_  
_look, she likes you regardless of your taste in movie_  
_heres a thought, just have her pick smthn_  
  
**MICAH,** 11:46 AM :  
_boy youre a genius_  
  
Good lad. I sit at my desk and begin to take out my materials. I’m early for once, so I get to watch the next four minutes as students file into the room. Baz is normally early. But as the minute hand clicks closer to 12 he still isn’t here. I’ve never seen him miss a day of class. Ever.  
  
11:47. He still isn’t here.  
  
11:48. He still isn’t here.  
  
11:49.  
  
As soon as I look up from my phone he does come in. He looks casual, as if he wasn’t about to be late to class. Somehow I can see that it’s only a front. I don’t know when I became a professional at reading Baz’s body language, but apparently that’s something I can add to my resume.  
  
He’s walking towards me. My eyes widen because normally he sits in front of me. Because normally Baz has nothing to do with me and that’s how it’s always been. _“Not you, Snow.”_ echoes in my head. I have half a mind to pull him by the collar and show him how much of his type I really am.  
  
But this is A-level Gov and I’m in the middle of classes. So all I _can_ do is gawk at him like a moron. He sits at the desk next to me. I’m still staring.  
  
"Close your mouth, Snow. You look ridiculous.”  
  
“This isn’t your normal seat.” I say, smartly.  
  
“My normal seat is occupied. This isn’t of my own volition.” Baz is kind of snappy. It’s kind of attractive. I kind of want to punch his face.  
  
I look over and see, yeah, his normal seat is taken. I sink into my chair as Ms Foster draws the classes attention. I thought I wouldn’t be able to focus since the source of all my wet dreams is sitting next to me, but apparently I have no problem. I scribble down the important dates and political programmes as if Baz isn’t even there. In fact, I do forget he’s there until he mutters, “Your hand-writing is shit.”  


********

I stop midword. I look up at him and frown. “Is not. It’s normal writing. Just… Short-hand.”  


"I doubt you can study with those.”  


“I study fine!” I snap. The person working in front of me looks back, annoyed. I smile sheepishly and duck my head down. “I study just fine. I have an A, you know.” His personality is so shite, honestly. Baz draws a line across his notes and _tsks._ "What now?"  
  
He crumples up a small piece of paper and slaps it on my desk.  
  
I blink at it.  
  
I look between him and the wad of paper. Baz isn't looking at me. I think there's the slightest red glow to his tanned skin. But I might be imagining things. I hope I'm not.  
  
I write down the rest of my bullet point then snatch the paper. I try not to look too eager when I open it up. I smooth down the edges as neatly as possible. It's a sticky note. There's only two things written on it.  


_Basilton._  


And a phone number.  


*** * ***

I don't get the opportunity to ask Baz why he's given me his number. He stays behind to talk to Ms Foster, and as much as I'd like answers to the piling up questions wracking my head, I also need lunch.  


I'm maybe moping when I meet up again with Penelope. This time Micah is at our table as well; I grin when he smiles at me.  


"Hey Micah."  


"Simon!" He projects happily. Americans are generally loud and obnoxious, but somehow when Micah is loud and obnoxious it's charming.  


I sling my bag over the table and sit across from the pair. "You won't believe what happened in Gov."  
Penelope is picking apart her school lunch. I steal some of her chips and shove them in my mouth. "Let me guess. More about the bloody Whigs? Honestly, Ms Foster is way too predictable. I'd about die if I had to hear the same bit every day."  


Micah smiles as if he knows what we're talking about.  


I uncrumple Baz's note and slap it on the table. Micah and Penelope lean in to read the contents. I puff my chest out, proud.  


"Is this fake?"  


"What? No!"  


"How did you…" Penelope trails off.  


"Baz?" Micah isn't really in the loop.  


"Simon wants to bone him, keep up." Penelope puts her hand on his arm. He nods along.  


Then; "Wait."  
I'm about to assume the worst. I guess I never bothered mentioning I was bisexual to him. It isn't such a big deal to me - I assumed everybody _knew_ I guess. But he doesn't question my sexuality. Instead; "If you wanted Baz's number I could've just given it to you."  


…  


Micah has Baz's number. Micah has his number? I suddenly get the blurry memories of seeing Micah speaking to Dev in passing, Micah at the matches, Micah with an arm slung around Niall's shoulder. Hell, how did I not notice that before? I was always too distracted watching Baz that I never saw Micah right there. I could've gotten this _months_ ago. I frown deeply and snatch the note back from him. I'm entering the phone number into my contacts as I sulk.  


He rubs the back of his neck. "I'm homies with them-- go to their games and everythin'. You seriously never noticed?" Micah is feigning hurt, a hand over his heart. "Simon! I thought what we had was special."  


Penelope laughs and I grumble.

********** **

****

**SIMON,** 1:02 PM  
_baz?_

**BASILTON,** 1:04 PM  
_Snow, I'm assuming._

**SIMON,** 1:04 PM  
_yeah!_  
_i thought i wasnt your type_  
_but youre passing me notes with ur phone number on them in the middle of class_

****

**BASILTON,** 1:05 PM  
_Are you always this insufferable?_

**SIMON,** 1:05 PM  
_penelope would probably say yes_

****

**BASILTON,** 1:06 PM  
_I'd trust Bunce over you any day._

"Are you texting him, then?" Penelope stabs her Capri Sun. I don’t like the smug look on her face, so I set down my phone. She’s right but I’m not going to give her that satisfaction. Her smile is wicked as she sips with feigned innocence. Over her shoulder I see Baz. He’s at his table with the usual suspects (Dev, Niall, Agatha). It’s hard to tell, but I think he has his phone in one hand, the other propping up his head. Niall is being wild and loud - he might as well be American. Dev is laughing heartily and Agatha is smiling along because she’s good-natured. I wonder if Agatha even likes hanging out with them - I make a note in my head to ask her next time we run into each other.  


But Baz is looking at the pair with mild amusement. I can tell he’s fond of them even if he’s trying to hide it. I can just feel it. It’s like how Penny sometimes tells me how much she detests me when I do something questionable, but I can always see the glint in her eyes that betrays her true feelings. Because I don’t think Penny would hang with me if she didn’t love me. And I’m sure Baz is the same, even if the freak doesn’t act like he has human emotions. At least he's hot.  


Penelope is looking directly at me through her cat-eyed glasses as my phone vibrates next to me. Her eyes sparkle with an unspoken ‘aren’t you going to look at that?’ And I’d love to say I resist the temptation to snatch up my phone and eagerly see who messaged me. I’d love to say that I don’t even try to look casual when I see Baz’s name again. But I do snatch my phone up a little excitedly and I do grin like an idiot at Baz’s name on my cracked phone screen.  


**BASILTON,** 1:15 PM  
_You said you score high in class?_  
_I genuinely hate putting myself in this position. And asking somebody like you for help, but…_  
_I may need some assistance in the class._

****

**SIMON,** 1:15 PM  
_:))))))))_

****

**BASILTON,** 1:16 PM  
_Somehow I find myself already regretting this decision._  
_If you tell anybody I will remove all of the blood from your body and leave your fleshy remains on your family’s porch._

****

**SIMON,** 1:16 PM  
_ur words mean nothing to me now_

****____

*** * ***

“I cannot believe my eyes.” Penelope says.

Here’s what had gone down after an exchange of text messages for a significant amount of time: Baz asked me to help him with Comparative Government. I complied out of the goodness of my heart - and also because who would pass up an opportunity like that - and then we set up a date. Not as in a date-date (I wish), but rather a date for him and I to meet up outside of class to study. Finals are coming up faster than any of us could possibly want, so I use these opportunities to review old information while Baz reviews pretty much everything else. I had no idea that he was struggling in the first place. And I guess even Penelope couldn’t believe it, going so far as to barge into my house uninvited on a Friday night. I hadn’t necessarily _told_ her that I was helping him so much as she put two and two together. She’s smart and I’m weak-willed when it comes to refusing her.

So here we are, notes and textbook haphazardly thrown across my living room table, Baz on one side and me on the other, with Penelope towering over us at the head of the table in a grin not unlike the cat who ate the canary.  


“Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch, the brightest lad in our grade and my main competition for top of the class, is studying with _Simon bloody Snow._ ”  


“Actually, my name is Simon.” I mutter. It flusters me to hear her talk down on me, but I know she doesn’t mean any harm by that so I ignore it as best as I can. It’s just Penelope being Penelope. I could never be angry at her for too long, anyway.  


Baz clicks his pen and sets it on the table. He’s dangerously and suspiciously well-composed as he slowly turns to Penelope. “Too high and mighty to ask for help are we, Bunce?” Her smile falters, she scoffs, then helps herself to my kitchen.  


She’s probably trying to find something proper to eat between Mom’s vegan snacks and Dad’s fiber bars, but I doubt she’ll find anything of worth that I haven’t already gotten to. Now she’ll understand why I always complain that I’m starving.  


I lean against my arm and chance a look at Baz. He’s already back to writing down notes in a script that’s way too ornate and lavish. His eyebrows are pressed together, and I can tell he’s frowning despite the downwards angle of his face. He still looks so put together and elegant, though. When he has to write a g or a j or y, he uses his whole arm as if he’s drawing. It’s very gestural. I’m finding that the more I watch him the more I notice about him. It’s all very enticing.  


“You’re staring.” He remarks.  


“I didn’t tell her.” I say, rubbing my nose on my sleeve. Baz pauses what he’s writing. His face unscrunches for a moment and he looks up at me. I don’t know what he’s looking for, but I feel like he’s stripping me entirely bare. And I’m letting him, because I have nothing to hide. I think I’d expose all of myself to him if he asked me to. I let him drag his gray eyes across my face and I let him see whatever he wants and I don’t bother hiding my feelings or thoughts.  


But Baz doesn’t say anything. He studies me intimately for only maybe ten seconds, but they’re the longest ten seconds of my life. I feel raw when he looks away. He’s back to writing notes. I want to know what he’s thinking. But I can’t just pry; we’ve been on speaking terms for maybe a week now. I want to know everything about him. I want to know about him and Agatha, I want to know about his family, I want to know if he has any pets, if he plays any instruments, what his favorite color is, where does he shop, what kind of food does he eat-- I want to know everything. I want him. I rub my cuff against my eyes. The wool is kinda itchy against my dry skin, but I deal with it. I see stars and sparks behind my eyelids when I press just a little bit too hard. As if I can scrub these thoughts and feelings away with momentary darkness.  


Penelope comes back in oblivious to my personal distress. I hear the crinkling of plastic. When I look up I see she’s found some crisps. They look like the vegetable ones, so I couldn’t be less interested in them as she settles into the seat next to me. She launches into her rambling as if Baz isn’t even there; “I’m going to the movies on Saturday with Micah - I told you that right? Of course I did. I was worried he would try to pick out a movie on his own but thankfully he asked me. Imagine if he had picked some sort of rom-com? Or a B-list Netflix original? I already sit through your taste in movies - no offense - and I’d rather not have to deal with having another person with awful taste.” I don’t really respond to her rant or bother interrupting, because she’ll either ignore or chastise me for interrupting her.  


I’m doodling a dragon on my paper. As much as I love Penelope I had hoped it was just Basil and I today. But she’s not very socially in touch, so there won’t be any way for me to subtly ask her to leave unless I explain it directly to her face. I love her, but I also want to spend one-on-one time with the guy I have a huge flame for. I pull my phone out of my pocket as she tells me about how much she disliked _Call Me By Your Name._

****

**SIMON,** 6:34 PM  
_sorry_

****

I see Baz shift in his seat. 

****

**BASILTON,** 6:34 PM  
_For what?_

****

**SIMON,** 6:34 PM  
_penny being penny_  
_she can get kinda overwhelming_  
_and a lil mean_  
_and uhhhhhhM_  
_i’m just sorry haha_

I put my head in my arms and slide my phone away from me. My phone buzzes a few times. I know it’s Baz but I don’t have the energy to look right now. I’m embarrassed, kind of frustrated, and this is not how I expected our time together to go. I grit my teeth and stand up. Penelope stops mid-sentence to look at me with raised brows. “All right?”  


“Yeah. Come with me a second.” I say. She complies. I lead her down the hallway to my room. I don’t want to risk Baz overhearing our conversation. I know that I’m desperate but he doesn’t have to know that too. Not yet, anyway.  


Penelope closes my bedroom door behind her. She’s got her back to it. She’s looking at me, expecting answers. I don’t know where to start so I just talk.  


“Penny I love you to death but please be literally anywhere but here.”  


“Why? I’m quite enjoying watching you and your boyfriend.”  


“He’s not my-- _Penelope._ Come on. Please.” I pinch the bridge of my nose and try to breathe out the building frustration. “I want to spend time with him. Alone?”  


She’s quiet. I might’ve gone a little too far. Did it sound harsh? Did it hurt her? Am I about to get an earful? I wouldn’t really be that surprised. God, am I a shite friend?  


But Penelope just shrugs, grinning. “Why didn’t you say earlier?”  


My mouths open when she reopens my bedroom door. She throws me a wink then is hurrying down the hall. I’m caught up in her storm like always and find myself wandering behind her, feeling lost. She’s twisting the bag of vegetable crisps closed and chatting with Baz. Really, it’s more like she’s just talking at him rather than to him, but that’s just Penelope. Baz doesn’t even acknowledge that she’s talking to him. I guess that's just Baz. I watch her leave the crisps on the kitchen table and shove her few personal belongings into the small satchel I hadn’t seen her bring in. Penelope slides her phone into her skirt pockets, then heavy sighs theatrically. The drama of it all.  


“So lovely seeing you, Basil. Very rude of me, but I’ve got other matters to attend to.” I half expected her to stay to spite me. I guess somewhere deep down she does have a heart. I’ll have to thank her profusely later. But for now I’m smiling and walking her out. Baz lifts his hand as his sole gesture of recognition of Penelope, then I’m pushing her out the door. “Leave room for Jesus.” She says, smug.  


"Shut up.” I say, annoyed.  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this took me like an hour to html format correctly i hate coding more than anything.  
> i don't like this chapter much but im hoping that somebody will so heres this :)  
> i'm going to try and update once a week


	3. Chapter 3

Agatha and I are sitting together. She’s got on a floral blouse tucked in to a pair of high-waisted shorts and her hair is back in a curly ponytail. She always looks good and well put together, but today she seems even more so; as if she’s _not_ just attending mandatory classes like the rest of us. Sitting alongside her in jeans and a size-too-big tee, we look like we’re from two different planets. I don’t mind though. I’m not particularly self-conscious.

We’re sitting on the cool, metal bleachers that surround the football field. It’s after school hours and the sun is high enough in the sky to provide some residual heat for the practicing sports teams. Normally I don’t watch the practices, only the games, but Penelope is up to no good again and requested to meet specifically here after school. I say she’s up to no good because she absolutely is aware that the football team has practice - that _Baz_ has practice. I look down at my phone for any missed texts from Penny, hoping for an explanation. But there’s nothing. Typical.

Down on the pitch they’re doing what I assume are passing exercises. The ball is being expertly passed in a zig-zag up and down the field. Dev and Niall are tearing up the field. They've got excellent ball control and make flawless passes as if they aren't even trying. They clear the obstacles and the field in one fluid sweep. Niall passes the ball to the next pair and slings a sweaty arm around Dev's shoulder. "Are you lot good friends?" I ask, jutting my chin towards the boys. Agatha looks at them.

"Relatively. I met them through Basil. They're good guys, just kind of thick. Hearts of gold. They'd do anything for Baz."

"And you? Would you do anything for Baz?" I have my legs sprawled across the bleacher below us, Agatha at my side. I scuff my heel against the bleachers and watch fine gravel crumble off the bottom of my shoe. 

"Aren't I?" She says. I look up at her because I don't understand. She peers back through long lashes. Everything about her appearance is so picturesque and perfect that it's hard to believe that somebody so eloquent _exists_ in the real world. I think somehow she realises I don't understand, because she adds; "Him and I aren't dating. It's a farce. Our families don't get along perfectly, but it's easier for both of us to play this silly game. It's all pretend, you know." My cheeks burn with this information. I feel like I've been given secret access to a previously locked off part of Baz, and I don't quite know what to do with it - both her and Baz have revealed this secret to me now. So I do what I do best and just talk.

"Why pretend? Find somebody you love and run off together."

Agatha's laugh tinkles like a chime. When she laughs her nose wrinkles and the otherwise unnoticeable dimple on her right cheek becomes very prominent. As if Agatha couldn't get more perfect. "Easier said than done, don't you think?" I guess I understand. And I'm an outsider- I don't know what happens behind closed doors like Agatha. I keep having to remind myself that him and I have only been properly speaking for two weeks. And in the span of those two weeks our conversations hardly deviate from classroom related shenanigans. Not the wet dream fantasy I had in mind, but it's a start. I'm so lost in thought that I almost don't notice the bleachers shudder at the presence of a new person. 

"We're going to Micah's." Penelope announces. She tucks her skirt beneath her thighs and plops right next to me. She bats her eyelashes innocently and leans into me. 

"We?"

"You, me, Agatha, Micah, and Baz." My breath falters, but I cover up any surprise or excitement by clearing my throat.

"Okay, why?" Penny smiles and settles her hand on my arm. She's got that look on her face that says 'I know something you don't'. It's only a little bit unnerving, but overwhelmingly so _Penelope_ of her. I find myself mirroring her smile even though I haven't the slightest clue what she's up to. "Where's Micah, then?"

Penelope leans back and raises her face to the sky. "The lot. He's got a car- we're going to drive there."

Micah's car fits maybe four people uncomfortably. It does not fit five people. Not very well. Micah is at the wheel. Agatha is up in the passenger's seat - she gets carsick. Baz and I are in the back, and practically laying on top of both of us is Penelope. I've got most of her on my lap, but her feet spill over onto Baz's lap. All our bags are crushed in the backseat with us. It's all crammed and it smells like sweaty teenagers, but at the same time it's kind of perfect. Penelope has her arms around the back of Agatha's chair and she's pulling herself forwards to butt into their conversation. (I'm her seatbelt- my arms around her waist.) Penelope gives Micah shit, accusing him of being unable to drive. Agatha is critiquing the melted stickers on his dashboard, and Baz is rolling his eyes at the drama of it all. The air conditioner doesn't quite work so the windows are rolled down, wind whipping through the car and filling me up with a sense of weightlessness. 

I feel kind of giddy. I laugh and bump my forehead against Penelope's back, then look at Baz. He's got his head against his hand as if he hates this, but he's smiling. His smile is beautiful. 

We make eye contact. He's still smiling. I don't know when his other hand had gotten so close to me, but I watch him graze the side of my thigh with his hand. I look back up for some kind of explanation. Baz withdraws his hand and looks out the window. 

I'm genuinely happy. Micah drives us to his house. A few times he'll swerve (when it's safe) just to get Penelope to yell bloody murder, but everybody will laugh. There's a light in Penelope's eyes that I've seen so few times - the same light that I'm sure is in my eyes. Unbridled happiness and joy. 

***

The five of us spend the rest of the night at Micah's house. His mum was there when we arrive, but after about thirty minutes she had left the house. She had given Micah a big wet kiss on the cheek and said "Be good Micah! All these pretty boys here - you guys are just asking for trouble." My face reddened at that, but I'm sure Baz was as stoic as ever. Always is. He's unreadable and gorgeous.

Micah throws on some movies that we five only kind of watch. In the middle of the first one Penelope loudly announced to Micah she craves grilled cheese. I sided with her because, yeah, who doesn't love a grilled cheese. Agatha had tried to get us to quiet down. It was to no avail; I'm unstoppable when it comes to food. Even something as simple as a grilled cheese can't escape from me - not that I'd let it. At the beginning of the second movie Micah caves and stalks off to the kitchen. Penelope cheers. Baz rolls his eyes. Agatha tells us to watch the film. By the halfway point we've each eaten two grilled cheeses. Micah can whip up a mean grilled cheese. Even Agatha happily munched away at her sandwiches, no longer annoyed by the fact that none of us were watching the movie. I'm not even sure what movie we're watching, honestly. I spent the whole time thinking about how good a grilled cheese sounded. It was way more important and a better usage of time. I don't regret it.

"You guys are awesome. I like hanging with y'all." Micah says. I feel my ears burn at how honest and sincere he is, but I nod along with the sentiment. It's shared, even if Baz, Agatha, and I aren't super well-acquainted yet. This feels… Natural. Like this is the clique we were supposed to have. I wonder if it's called a clique because everybody just _clicks_ together. Even with Baz pretending to show disapproval of our antics- everything is perfect. 

"I feel the same way." Agatha murmurs gently. My chest feels warm. I haven't been this happy in a long time. I think everybody else feels the same way. I'm sure Penelope does.

This feels like something out of a movie. But I pray to all that's holy that every second of our time together is real. There’s beauty in togetherness. My heart is full as I watch the friends I love do silly things. 

The end credits roll but none of us seem to care. Because the night is still young and we’re stupid teenagers too full of ourselves to think of anything but the present. Penelope slaps her thighs. Her skirt is hitched up her legs, modesty shorts more visible than the actual skirt. “Enough of this cutesy stuff. How’s the pool here, Micah?”

“You have a pool?” I stretch my legs out in front of me. I can’t even remember the last time I went swimming. Maybe when Penelope and I were younger. A couple years ago, perhaps. 

Micah scratches the back of his neck. “Well, technically it’s a community pool. But I don’t think it’s open at…” He looks at his wristwatch. “11 P.M. on a Friday night.” Penelope hears him but doesn’t listen. She’s never really listened to anybody, to be fair. She’s getting up, already going into a frenzy about needing towels and how easy it is to sneak into the community pool. I don’t think Penelope’s ever trespassed anywhere a day in her life, but she’s pretending to be so confident that I don’t put up any effort to counter her idea.

“We don’t have anything to swim in.” Micah tries. Penelope isn’t having it.

“Well, actually, I know for a fact that Simon would go in naked if we properly let him. I have my bra and shorts. Baz has his practice wear. Agatha can deal- and you have swim trunks!” 

Agatha wrinkles her eyebrows together. “I can deal? This time I suppose, since I’m wearing comfortable clothes, but hey.” Penny yanks me up. She’s then gesturing for everybody else to follow. Micah looks apprehensive. Agatha is hesitating. Baz isn’t budging. Penelope huffs with frustration. “Just listen to me! It’ll be fun. I promise.” 

When everybody realizes she isn’t giving up any time soon, one by one everybody caves. Agatha caves first, then Micah. Baz never explicitly says he agrees or disagrees; he’s just kind of glaring in general. I think that’s just his face. It’s kind of hot in a weird way. I feel the stupid smile forming on my face again. 

Oh well. I’m starting to care less and less what Baz sees. I’d uncover myself to him fully if I could. I’d strip myself until all he could see was my beating heart and soul. I’d let him hold everything that I am in his hands. I’d do anything for him. I’m falling in love with him.

…

“Fuck.” I say. We’re already walking down the street to the gated pool. Micah is lagging back with me while Penelope confidently marches ahead. He looks at me curiously. “Fuck,” I repeat, a little more breathless.

“So you said the first time. What’s wrong with you, Simon?”

“I’m…” I don’t really like talking about my emotions. I never have and probably never will. I’d rather take it as it comes - this kind of sudden realization isn’t really for me. “I think that I’m…” My palms are sweating. Yeah, no. I’m not going to reveal to Micah that I’m falling in love with Baz.

I shake my head instead. Micah seems to understand. He puts a hand firmly on my shoulder and gives me a side smile. He’s got a cute dimple on his right cheek. “It’s okay. You don’t have to tell me, man. But I’m here for you and stuff.” He slaps my shoulder in a friendly way and I stumble. Adonis over here was also gifted with being in shape, so it stings a little bit more than a playful slap probably should, but I give him a smile. Because that’s really all I can do. 

I decide to push the realization away, because I don’t want to think about my feelings and I don’t want to think about falling in love with Baz and I don’t want to think about… Well… Anything. I like the mindless thing. It’s my favorite. Going with the flow. Let’s get back to that, please.

Penelope slaps her hands on her hips triumphantly. “So, the plan. Simon, do you think you could climb the gate?” Agatha exhales in disbelief. 

“That’s your plan? Have Simon hop a fence and potentially get hurt?” I’m looking at the fence anyway. The bars are vertical, but it’d probably be fine. It’s not the worst thing she’s asked me to do. 

Baz scoffs, “As if he _could._ This is stupid. We should leave. Sorry that your perfect plan didn’t work, Bunce.”

Penelope bristles like a cat and opens her mouth to snap back. Micah just pushes past all of us. I’m still looking at the fence, Agatha is looking at me like she’s ready to stop me if I make any wrong movement, Penelope and Baz are about to break into a fighting match. 

_Click._

The gate swings back on its hinges. Micah is holding it open, eyebrows raised. Oh. Well, he lives here. I guess it makes sense that he’d have a key for the pool. Still would’ve liked to see if I could climb the fence, but whatever; no dramatic acts of self-destructive heroism today. 

“If y’all had listened you would’ve known that I had a key this whole time, but, hey. You do you.” Micah has this lopsided, smug smile. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him go against Penelope. She’s rather controlling and it’s too much work to fight back. But he sure did it. I clap his shoulder. He’s a good man. 

Penny pushes past all of us excitedly. All the frustration seems to have peeled off her like a sticker- it’s as if she wasn’t about to throw hands with Baz after all. 

There isn’t any overhead lights on since nobody is technically allowed in here after hours. The pool itself is lit up with underwater lights. The light blue reflects off of our faces. The water is still; it looks so inviting that I’m tempted to jump in fully clothed. Micah pulls his shirt over his head and runs a tanned hand through his dark hair. Considering how against he was about swimming in the first place he sure looks excited. He throws his phone, wallet, and keys onto a nearby lounge chair, then takes a running start towards the pool. When he jumps in the water spills over the edges. Agatha and Penelope are laughing in delight, already stripping down to their underwear. I grab the hem of my shirt. Then, I look at Baz.

The light is illuminating his face and catching his eyes in a perfect way that makes him look like he's glowing. It's like something out of a Disney movie. He's got a birthmark above his lip that I want to kiss. He's gorgeous and I can't help but stare. 

"Stop drooling." Penelope shoots over to me before sprinting into the pool. She's laughing the whole way and spits out water when she resurfaces. "I opened my mouth underwater," She whines to Micah. He laughs, so she splashes water in his face. 

"Not going in?" Agatha folds her shirt and places it atop a lounge chair. Clearly she cares more about her possessions than the other two; Penelope and Micah had just chucked their belongings haphazardly aside and rushed in. It's a cute trait, I think to myself when she looks up at me.

"What?" I say, dumbly. Then I realize that I haven't taken off my clothes yet, so I probably look kinda dumb standing there fully clothed. "Oh. No, uh, I'm gonna go in." Agatha laughs and I pull my shirt over my head. I think about tossing it aside (it's already wrinkled. Not like it could get worse) but I decide to sling it over the back of a chair instead. Agatha holds out her hand to me. I'm confused but I take it anyway. Her hands warm and soft.

She pulls me along until we're at the edge of the pool, smiling wildly. "Jump with me." I allow her to lead me. 

Micah _whoop_ 's loudly from the water, "Come on, ladies! Get in!" I think I hear the beginnings of one of Penelope's tirades, but I leap with Agatha instead. We hit the water at the same time. I squeeze my eyes shut and take in the feeling. Heart racing with adrenaline; the bubbles caressing me as they whiz upwards; my skin shocked from the cool water; Agatha's warm hand slipping away from mine. My heel hits the bottom of the pool and I launch myself back up to the surface. Agatha is pulling her wet hair back into a ponytail, her face is flushed with delight. She's practically bubbling and I grin. 

There's still one of us missing. Agatha swims over to Penny and Micah, so I use the opportunity to go to Baz. He's standing at the edge of the pool, still fully clothed. His expression is neutral - or at least as neutral as I imagine it can get considering all he does is glare or scowl. I fold my arms over the edge of the pool and look up at him. I have half the mind to pull him in the way he is, but I have a feeling he'd be well pissed. He's got on this nice floral button-up and cuffed jeans and I don't doubt just his shirt is more expensive than everything in my closet combined.

"Don't tell me you're _shy_ , Baz." It comes out a lot more smug than I intend but he looks down at me. His eyebrows knit together and his eyes narrow. I think he might kick me, so I mentally prepare myself.

"I'm not. I don't like swimming." Probably too fancy to swim in a commoners pool or some shit like that. He's a pretentious asshole, honestly. I wouldn't be surprised if he had his own private Olympic-sized indoor pool. It'd probably have a high ceiling and marble columns. I wonder what _he_ wears to swim. Probably doesn't just strip around like Micah and I do. 

I put my head on my hand and raise my eyebrows. "Probably doesn't meet your high and mighty standards as a pool. Sorry, no poolside service available."

Baz scoffs. I wish I could swallow it with my mouth and leave him breathless. Is that weird? Whatever. 

"You're annoying." He says to me. All I do is hum in response and watch as he rolls up his jeans further. I stare at any exposed skin I can. He's already going around with the top three buttons of his shirt open, I can't really stop my imagination from running wild. Like, how would it look if I just took off his damned shirt entirely? I wonder how his thighs really look under those jeans, and if he'd look as good under me as I imagine. 

His pants roll up only to about the knee. He takes one of the towels that Micah brought along, folds it in half, and sets it on the edge. Then he sits on top and slings his legs into the water. I'm surprised that he's even doing this much.

"You're staring." Baz bluntly states. I inhale and pull away from the edge. I slide my hand over my face.

"Yeah." I reply then I dunk my head underwater.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> happy 3rd book announcement day


	4. Chapter 4

“So, what’s it like dating the prettiest girl in the entire school?” Penelope has her arms against the ledge of the pool, obviously having no issue getting up in Baz’s business. I remember Agatha and my conversation from earlier- about how they aren’t _really_ dating. I wonder if either of them will come clean, or if this is some weird secret that I’ve accidentally been let in on. I stay quiet because that’s the only thing that makes sense to me.

“She smells nice. What do you want to achieve with this conversation?” Agatha’s cheeks are the softest shade of pink. She looks like she’s holding back a laugh behind her tightly pressed together lips. (She’s already smiling. I’m sure to them it looks like she’s flustered from the compliment.) 

“I’m trying to establish a sense of companionship! We should be buddies! You’re part of our squad--”

“I kindly decline your invitation.”

“-- So you have to let us into your heart!” Penelope puffs her cheeks out. I think it’s less that she wants to know more about him and more that she wants to know what makes him tick. She has a tendency to carve into peoples heads and watch what happens. Sometimes it’s destructive and harmful - it’s part of Penelope’s flaw. She can sometimes be a little too much. I know her and Micah get into fights over it. I think it’s just difficult for her to understand _people._ She can recite everything out of a dictionary perfectly, but she can’t tell you about the emotional aspects. 

“Fine. Then, Aggy,”

“Agatha.”

“What’s it like dating Basil?” I find myself suddenly a lot more interested in where this conversation is heading. I see Baz grip the edge of the pool out of the corner of my eye and try not to think about what that could possibly mean. “I mean, fighting me for top of class… Having stellar grades… Football star- the whole mile.” Micah laughs at Penelope’s Americanism. 

“Well… Dating Basil is…” Agatha pulls her wet hair over her shoulder and begins to run her fingers through it. She looks at nobody in particular. I think she’s trying to think of something to say that won’t give away the fact they aren’t really dating. Or she could actually be head over heels and at a loss of words. I try not to consider that, though.

“Dreamy?” I suggest. It was supposed to be a joke but I feel the tips of my ears burn, as if I had just stripped naked and told all of them I was madly in love with Baz. I cup some pool water over my ears in a feeble attempt to stop the irritation.

Agatha smiles and looks at me now. I hope I don’t like terribly stupid. “Yes. Dreamy. It’s like a fairytale I suppose.” God, I bet it is. “It’s all because of luck that I’m able to be by the side of somebody so incredible.” She squeezes some water out of her hair nonchalantly. I’m actually taken aback; she’s real good at pretending to be dating and all that. My face is warm again, and when I look at Penelope she’s flushed as well. We’re not very used to honest emotions around here.

When I sneak a peek out of the corner of my eye Baz is expressionless. I guess he’s unmoved entirely. I’m reminded by the fact that he’s a tosser who just so happens to be incredibly hot yet again. Way to pick them, Simon.

Agatha hums to break the silence. She pulls herself over the ledge of the pool and pads to where the remaining towels are. “We don’t have enough towels.” She says, shuffling all our belongings around. “Including the one Baz has got there’s only three.” 

“What? No way. I checked.” Penny gracelessly launches herself out of the pool. She makes a big show out of it, and when Baz gets wet she seems proud. “You’re right, there’s just three. Boo. Micah, we’ll walk back to your place to get more. Simon, you want a spare shirt?” She waves my damp t-shirt at me.

I shake my head, “No, it’s alright. Micah and I aren’t the same size anyway. Be safe.” 

Penelope and Agatha wrap the two remaining towels around themselves. When they leave I notice Micah perk up significantly. “Boys night.” He jokes. I can’t imagine having ‘boy time’ with Baz. However, Micah doesn’t seem put off by Baz’s lowsy personality. He wades closer. “Thanks for hangin’ with us, Baz. I know this isn’t really your scene, but Penny really wants to make this a whole group.” 

“I think she’s having the most fun with this out of all of us,” I add on. Micah nods.

“It…” Baz looks aside in thought. I wonder if he’s picking out what to say in his head to not give away any indication he might actually be having a good time. (I’ve seen him smile a few times. I _think_ he’s having a good time.) “It isn’t bad.” He concludes. “I didn’t have anything else happening.” 

The answer is sufficient for Micah, who breaks into a wide grin. His dimples make sharp indents into his cheeks, adding thousands to his already thousand dollar smile. He's ever so subtly inching closer to Baz. I think I get what's about to go down, so I casually float back. 

Baz has good reflexes. He's a starter for a reason; he's fast, calculating, rational… And got a hell of a kick. Again, his reflexes are incredible. But they aren't incredible enough to save him from the terror that is Micah.

Within the span of a few seconds Micah, having successfully infiltrated Baz's personal space, grabbed Baz's ankles. Then he proceeded to use all his might (which is a lot, mind you) to yank Baz in. He tumbles in face first right in front of me, and I laugh so hard at his expression that I snort. Micah is well pleased with himself.

Baz quickly resurfaces and looks like he's about to rip out Micah's throat. "This is one of my favorite shirts."

"Take it off! Give us a show." Micah teases. I can't tell if the red in Baz's face is from embarrassment or anger. Either way… It looks good. 

Micah backs out of reach when Baz lunges at him. He laughs, completely calm in this situation. Sensing defeat, Baz undoes his shirt and chucks it near our other belongings. I look away when his hands fall to his buckle.

"On whatever god is out there, I swear to them I will rip you a new one if my clothes end up ruined." There's a _flop_ and when I look back his jeans are also in the pile. I purposefully do not look at Baz. Micah is still smiling and laughing like a mad man; I wonder if Penny has thoroughly broken him, honestly.

"It's okay! Look, I'll take your clothes back, Your Highness. I can get you spares too, if you don't mind wearing my stuff." Micah wades to the stairs as he speaks. He looks back at us, and I assume Baz nods because Micah gives a thumbs up and leaves the pool.

He wads up everybodys' wet clothing and salutes, then he's scuttling out towards his house. I exhale, cheeks sore from smiling and laughing.

Then I look at Baz.

…

Shit. 

I'm looking at Baz.

It's only Baz and I, alone, in a pool, basically naked, at midnight. And he looks gorgeous. There's water droplets hanging off his eyelashes like morning dew and his hair is falling loosely around his face in wet waves. They're subtle, but waves nonetheless. It's rare to see him with his hair natural. He looks less imposing like this… And, maybe this is just me, but he's hotter too. I wish I could run my fingers through his hair. 

"Is all you do stare?" Baz leans back, shoulders against the concrete slabs surrounding the pool. His voice doesn't have the usual malice in it. I can't really tell _what_ it is, but it's making my stomach do flips.

"Not normally."

"What's normal, then?"

"Rushing in. Impulsiveness. Penny says I'm self destructive. Like, I'm a star that's so hot it's gonna supernova and then close in on itself and be its own death." 

Baz watches me. As I say this the tension in his face falls away. I catch something on his face that looks like pain, like loneliness, like he's never heard something so brutal before. I expect him to throw on another scowl, but he doesn't. Steel blue eyes are boring into me. They flicker between my eyes, back and forth. If I could empty myself right now I would. Feelings and all. Something about Baz makes me wish I could give him all of me. If this is what falling in love is like, I think I'm both terrified and elated. I take a step forwards, closer to Baz. 

"Are you going to become a black hole, then?"

"'Dunno." 

"Purely unknown… Drawing everything towards yourself selfishly and unashamedly. Taking in everything, looking so beautiful yet unimaginably horrifying. Revered." 

My hand reaches out and settles on his hip. He's warm under my palm. "Is that bad?"

"That depends, Snow."

"Do you think I'm a supernova or a black hole?"

We're inches apart. He hasn't broken away from me. He hasn't tried to pull away. He's saying all these poetic, bewitching things. I'm starting to think that maybe he's the black hole; selfishly pulling me in. I'm looking at his mouth now.

"I wonder." Baz replies. He's so quiet. He's soft -- it's so _un-Baz_ that it makes my heart race. More. I want him to be like this; I want to be able to have all of him. 

"I think that maybe being a supernova wouldn't be awful."

Then I'm kissing him. 

There aren't any fireworks and I don't suddenly understand my feelings, but my heart is pounding and my hands are shaking. My eyes are shut; as much as I'd love to watch Baz I'm more terrified than anything else right now. Because maybe I just misread this whole thing, maybe he really _is_ into Agatha, maybe he just really likes astrology. Astronomy? Whatever. 

"Simon," Baz breathes against my mouth. I want to jump him right then and there, but it's enough of a surprise to get me to pull back. He's unreadable. Or, no. The more I look the more I realize how hard he's _trying_ to look unreadable. His pupils are blown and there's a gorgeous rose tint blooming on his cheeks. It's like he's coming apart. God, I want to take him apart.

I feel his hand on the back of my neck, and then we're kissing again. He's pulled me in this time. I wonder if maybe both of us are going supernova. Or maybe we've already become black holes, circling each other and taking. Consuming. Grabbing everything we possibly can. 

One of Baz's hands grabs my shoulder while the one that was on the back of my neck now travels upwards into my hair. I'm no longer shaking, I realize. I squeeze his hip in one hand and cup his face in the other. My thumb brushes the birthmark above his lips. For good measure I put a kiss there too, but then we're snogging again. I lick his lower lip and he responds by pulling me in and biting my lower lip. It's, frankly, really fucking hot. 

_Click._

The unmistakable sound of the gate opening. A frustrated noise escapes me before I can stop it. I press hard against Baz one last time, then I'm off. I look up as Penelope and Agatha step back in with fresh towels. 

"Hello boys! Didn't rip each other apart, right?" Hah. Only internally.

Agatha looks at Baz. "You went into the pool." She comments.

"Micah _pulled me in_." He hisses, then he's climbing out to snatch a clean towel from Ag. I feel kind of stupid in the pool alone so I get out as well. Penelope drops the towel onto my head and ruffles it into my hair. I laugh and push her away. 

“Speaking of, where is he?” I pull the towel around my shoulders. I’m trying my best to look nonchalant despite the fact I was just sucking face with Baz. As much as I’d love to grab Penelope and shake her, yelling at the highest volume possible that I kissed Baz, I don’t think he’d like that. I don’t even know what it meant for him. 

“Micah?” I nod. “He’s back home putting our clothes to wash. We told him we’d pick you two up.” 

I try to make my glance at Baz seem casual. His hair is messily pushed back and he’s wrapping the towel around his waist, watching Agatha talk. I almost wish he was still blushing. I’m wondering if two seconds ago really did happen at this point. Baz is well composed, neither of the girls saw it happen, and everything feels strangely normal. If it’s some sort of plot then Baz has gone too far. 

I’m sulking as we head back to Micah’s place. I know it’s immature but I can’t help it; I finally get to snog the guy I’m into and then have to immediately pretend as if nothing happened. Baz is with Agatha in front of me, Penny in front of them, so I’m in the back acting like a kid. I wonder if I have to, like, grab him and just yell in his face “Please date me right now”. Or maybe not, that doesn’t sound like it’d go over very well. I frown, folding the towel closer around me. But, then I catch Baz’s eye. He’s looking ever so casually over his shoulder back at me, and suddenly I feel as if all the unease and anxiety has been flushed away. He doesn’t smile but he doesn’t scowl either. And that’s a win in my book. I can’t wipe the dumb grin off my face even when we’re back in Micah’s house. I see his mom’s car in the driveway. I hope he didn’t get a lecture for illegally swimming at midnight with his dumbass friends. 

I don’t get the opportunity to have any more alone time with Baz. We all stay in a group the rest of the time until Micah decides it’s too late to be talking about the practicality of pigeons. I agree, considering I wasn’t even paying attention to the topic in the first place. It’s late and my shirt smells like clean laundry. We all essentially borrowed something of Micah’s to sleep in. I got a pair of sweats (tied very tightly), Baz had received one of Micah’s t-shirts (he scowled), and Agatha borrowed a pullover hoodie. Penelope had clothes already, so she didn’t bother to take any of his clothing. 

“Okay, so, I guess Agatha and Penelope can share my bed. If you’re okay with that? Then the three of us will sleep on the floor like gentlemen.” Micah throws a massive pile of blankets onto the floor. Penelope is already on his bed, spread across the whole thing. Her hair is in messy ringlets everywhere, and it’s almost comical how it sticks out. It’s very cute nonetheless, but I know she’ll complain about it all of tomorrow morning. 

Agatha sits on the edge of the bed. “Are you sure? You can sleep up here with Penny if you’d like.”

“Scandalous!” I say loudly. Agatha smiles.

Micah shakes his head. “No, it’s okay. Plus I don’t think my mom would be thrilled to see me sharing a bed with a girl.”

“Why not? Can’t people of different genders sleep in the same bed together? That’s such a closed minded way of thinking.”

“Penelope you’re literally dating. I think it’s fair.” I pull two blankets out of the pile; one to use as a pillow and the other to burrito in. Micah chucks some blankets at Baz, using the rest for himself. “Micah, do you got water bottles?”

“Yeah,” He says, “Do you want me to get you one?”

I’m shaking my head, already heading to the door. “Nah, s’fine. I got it.” I put a hand on the wall to steady myself, not bothering to turn on the hallway lights. This is the only time I’ve been to Micah’s house and I’m only half confident I remember where the kitchen is. Oh well, I figure I’ll get there eventually. 

I almost knock a wooden picture frame off the wall, steadying it at the very last second. If I squint I can vaguely make out what looks like a kid Micah with his mom and, I assume, dad. He’s got a big grin on his face and the two are holding him tightly. It looks like a candid. They’re laughing and smiling and it’s so infectious that I’m smiling staring at it. I don’t get to see my own parents very often, but I’ve always loved looking at other peoples’ family photos. It’s like stepping into a memory, that special moment. I can almost hear the laughter, the shutter clicking, the wind blowing through their hair. _It’s magical_ , I think to myself as my fingers leave the frame. 

I pass through the living room. It’s messy, proof that we were there only minutes ago goofing around. Half of the pillows are on the floor, there are crumbs and cups, and the furniture is askew. I’ll have to make sure to help pick up tomorrow morning. 

I find the light switch and turn it on. The kitchen lights up. I immediately begin wandering around, searching for wherever he hides his water bottles. I feel a little bad rifling through all his belongings, but not bad enough to stop. 

“Oh.”

I almost bang my head against a cabinet in surprise. I thought I was entirely alone and everybody was going to bed, so I basically almost just fucking died of a heartattack. “Fuckin’...” I look at the culprit.

Baz. I’m simultaneously more and less irritated. My fingers twitch, longing to touch him. But I keep what little composure I have left. 

“Did you want a water?” He’s sort of drifting over. I don’t know what he’s doing -- like normal, I suppose -- and it makes me both curious and nervous. “Or are you here to harass me for no apparent reason.” I try to make a joke, get a read of the situation. He puts his hand on the island counter and just stares at me. Okay, this is fine too I guess.

He’s got this intense look in his eyes. I wish I knew what was going on in his head. I guess I wish I knew what was going on with him in general. But instead we’re standing in the kitchen, just gazing at each other.

Baz’s fingers tap the counter, then he frowns. 

“Come here.” He says to me. I oblige like an obedient dog. I’m in front of him now, staring right back up at him. Loose hair, baggy clothing, gorgeous eyes… It’s even better up close. He grabs my chin with his hand and sort of pushes my head aside. It’s like he’s examining me, I realize. I make a noise, annoyed.

“What are you doing?” I complain, swatting up at his hand. He turns my face to the other side. 

“If you didn’t open your mouth you’d be much more attractive.” Baz states this as if it’s a scientific fact. I swallow down the urge to throw hands.

“Gee, thanks. If you weren’t such an insufferable asshole maybe you would be too.” 

He crosses his arms and amusement flashes across his face. He’s smirking at me. “I was under the impression you _liked_ me being this way, Snow.” I might blush at that. 

“Shut up.” I hiss back at him. He bunches his hand up in my shirt and pulls me to him. Then, we’re kissing again. There’s a buzz that goes through my body. My hands twitch with that sensation of longing again. I take a fistful of his shirt and yank him towards me. He doesn’t stop kissing me when I’m backed against a counter. The marble top is digging uncomfortably into my lower back but I can’t be arsed at the moment. All I can think about is Baz’s mouth on mine, his hands, his half-closed eyes, how warm he is against me, how he smells so good and how everything feels so fucking perfect. 

We break, chests heaving with the desperation for air. I lick my lips (Baz Baz Baz _Baz, God._ ) and kiss his jaw. He’s got a handsome jawline. Everything about him is unfairly handsome. Under normal circumstances I might be jealous, but right now all I can think is how lucky I am.

Baz’s exhale quivers when I kiss his jawline, then he’s crowding over me and pressing his mouth against my jaw. He trails down further. I can’t help but groan when he kisses my neck. This has been at least 50% of my wet dreams, so I’m on cloud nine at the moment. He drags the collar of my shirt aside and puts his lips against my collarbone. “I’m going to bite you.” He says.

I reply by pulling his hair. 

And then he gives me the best fucking hickey of my life. My legs are shaking against the counter. My breath keeps getting caught in my throat and I’m absolutely unraveling. He’s attacking my neck and collar, varying between gentle kisses and painful bites. Everything’s kind of cloudy and I can’t tell which I like more. 

“Baz.” I groan, tightening my grip on his hair. He pulls back, watching me carefully. All I can do is pull him in for another kiss. I feel like I’m going to explode. I hope he feels the same way. It’s smothering. I think now we’re both going supernova.

We start slowing down. Kisses become more open-mouthed and soft. They’re no longer desperate and sloppy, but slow and comfortable. He’s let go of my shirt and I’m gently carding my fingers through his hair. I place a hand over his chest and feel the strong thrum of his heartbeat against my fingertips. Everything is syrupy and warm, I feel as if I'm getting drunk off of Baz. I want to take off his shirt and rest my head against his chest, I want to hear how alive he is. I want _him._

My nose brushes against his cheek, nuzzling into him. I rest my head on his shoulder and he holds me. He's got his arms loose around my waist, and we're swaying in place to the rhythm of our heartbeats. 

"'M starting to think that maybe I am your type, Baz." I smile into his shoulder.

"Maybe you are, Snow." Fondly.

"I already knew." 

"I know."

He kisses the top of my head. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was obviously all started and written before wayward son comes out, so i suppose micah seems out of character now. i havent decided what im gonna do with him yet (taking into account what happened in WS)  
> also hope u enjoyed these stupid poetic losers making out in weird places. i had fun writing it. this isnt gonna become a smutfic in the future, so that might be as handsy as it gets lol.


	5. Chapter 5

"We should go on a double date!" Penelope announces at lunch. I know she's referring to Baz and Agatha, but my heart still thumps a little faster. "What do you think, Miss Wellbelove?"

Agatha smiles politely. "I don't know. What if we end up hating each other."

"Not much would change! Baz already pretends like he hates us." She's not wrong about it. He's sitting next to Penelope and directly across from me. We aren't whispering secrets or playing footsies in secrecy. We're just sitting there. As normal friends do. Normal friends who just hang out and don't snog sometimes in the heat of the moment while hiding everything from everybody they know.

… Yeah, we haven't talked about it. But Baz likes to kiss. And I'm very, _very_ happy to oblige. He's more touchy than I expected him to be. It occurred to me once to ask him: _"Have you ever_ actually _dated anyone?"_ and that's how I quickly found out Mr Cool Football Star has no dating or romantic experience at all. I wonder if this is all just a fun game for both of us. But, I'm not sure I want to break this charade yet, so I keep my feelings to myself. 

I flick a bunched up napkin at Penelope. "Thanks for making plans right in front of me." I wonder if I will eventually get to take Baz on a date.

"Get a girlfriend-- or boyfriend. Then we can make it a triple date!" Penelope claps her hands together as if she's solved world hunger. 

Agatha looks at me curiously. "You like boys?"

I'm pulling my sleeves over the palms of my hands nervously. I laugh and shrug, "Uh… It's hard to say."

"He likes one bloke." Penelope says triumphantly. I want to disappear into the ground and never emerge again.

 _"Penelope."_

Agatha waves her hands dismissively, "I'm not one to judge! I hope things work out for you." She's got a tight smile. I wonder what that's about. I give her a half-hearted (what I hope looks like an) appreciative smile. Micah and Penelope already knew, and I'm _sure_ Baz figured it out. I'm not very public about liking whoever, but it does feel nice being able to be honest about it. I'm lucky to have good friends. 

When Penelope switches to another conversation topic I sneak a look at Baz. It's easy to assume that he's apathetic like usual, but these past few months I've gotten increasingly better at reading every tiny micro-expression. For example, he looks like normal scowl-y Baz, but he's in actuality deep in thought. 

I swing my legs over the bench and get up. Penelope raises her eyebrows and I shrug, “Gotta piss.” 

While I’m walking away I take my phone out of my jeans pocket. 

**SIMON** , 12:43 PM

_follow?_

**BASILTON** , 12:43 PM

_Do I have to._

**SIMON** , 12:44 PM

_just wondering have u ever tried not being an arsehole_

_like ever in ur life_

**BASILTON** , 12:44 PM

_No._

Baz does follow me. When you exit the cafeteria and take a left, there’s a small hallway before the Emergency Exit that’s usually desolate. He finds me there, arms crossed and eyebrows raised.

“Snow?”

“Are you okay?” I ask him. His thoughtful expression earlier is in my head. I tend to be thinking about him more often than not nowadays. We’ve slowly established this routine of bickering and fighting but also (I think) genuinely enjoying each others presence. I don’t feel complete when he’s with me, but I do definitely feel just a little bit better.

His eyebrows fall. I think I’ve caught him off-guard. “Am _I_ okay?”

“Yeah? You had a look.”

“That’s my face.” 

“You’re such a pain.” I’m smiling. Baz joins me against the wall, both of us with our backs to it and not looking at anything in particular. He runs his hands down his shirt, smoothing out wrinkles that don’t exist.

“Are you all right?”

I startle. “Me?”

“Penelope _outed you._ Without your consent.” 

Oh. I guess he’s right. I didn’t really give it much thought, but it does sort of… suck. I’ve seen in films that coming out is a big self-thingy. I’ve never thought about coming out before. Penelope’s said it on my behalf twice now -- to Micah and to Agatha. “It’s not the first time, it’s not that big of a deal.” I pull my hair and don’t look at him.

Baz somehow ends up in front of me. I don’t have a choice but to look at him.

“Simon. Have you _ever_ told anybody?”

“Not really, I guess.” I shrug again. “I don’t see why it’s that big of a deal,” I repeat.

Baz exhales and his hand brushes against my arm. It’s soft and I can’t stop watching his movements. “... I haven’t either. But nobody has outed me before. Why aren’t you more angry about it?”

“It’s Penny.” I say. It sounds weak. “I know she doesn’t mean any harm.” I lay a hand against his chest. When he touches me so casually it makes me feel secure and safe. It’s as if he’s an anchor. I always feel as if I’m five seconds from floating off the planet. Nothing is holding me down. But with him it’s different. 

“You’ve not told anybody?”

Baz shakes his head. “No. I guess you’re the only one who knows.”

“Not even Agatha?”

“I think she suspects.” Probably, if he’s going around with blokes doing what he’s doing with me. The thought makes me feel jealous. “I’d bet it’s easy to tell when you’re supposed to be dating somebody and they’re queer.” Yeah, I guess. I didn’t ever see him being particularly all over Agatha. Today alone we’ve touched more than I’ve seen them touch in a year. Whatever our relationship is it’s getting tangled and complex, spinning around us and creating something unknown and inevitable. I’m falling for him with every passing moment. 

"Want to head back?"

"Not really." I say selfishly. I like this small bubble we have. It's as if we've created a bubble separate from the rest of the world where it's only us. I like being an _us_ with Baz. I like Baz. I hold his face in my hand. My fingertips brush through his hair. He leans into my touch. I can so easily forget that I'm in school with him here. I have half a mind to hoist him over my shoulder and ditch the rest of the school day. I kiss him instead.

Then somebody's clearing their throat. 

I shove Baz off of me and both of us turn to the source, bewildered and embarrassed to have been caught in the position we were in.

Thankfully, it's Micah.

"So… How was the bathroom?" He's smiling. That's a good sign, I think.

"It was a bathroom." I laugh it off and pretend we were not caught in an intimate moment. As far as Micah is aware Baz is more-or-less straight and dating Agatha. So, from his point of view, I look like… Well, a homewrecker. 

Baz pushes past Micah. I think he's embarrassed. It's cute.

"Don't tell anybody." I beg Micah. 

Micah waves his hand with a cheeky grin. "Hey dude, it's fine. I'm happy for you. Absolutely expect you to fill me in on the deets later, though."

My shoulders sag with relief. I'm thanking every god and being above that Micah is an angel. I nod and he swings his arm over my shoulder. "Let's get back to the girls, yeah?"

"Yeah."

***

“So, is he your boyfriend?”

“Not quite.” 

“You make out with dudes you’re not dating on the reg? You player.” Micah’s got his leg up on the bleachers, carefully doing the Velcro up on his shin guard. I’m here to watch Baz mostly, because that’s what I’ve been more or less doing after school every day. Penelope meets me at the pitch, and most days we go home with Micah. Some days Baz comes along. I like those days, because when it’s late and Penny and Micah run off into the night we can do whatever we want alone. Even rarer, Agatha will also join us. It doesn’t seem as if today is one of those days. So far, it’s the three of us-- with Baz and Micah in practice. 

“Just him.” I reassure.

“Hm.” Micah looks over his shoulder to where Baz is. “And Agatha?”

I wince. I’m not sure if I should tell him that Baz and her aren’t properly dating. But I’d also not want to be labeled as a homewrecker, so I settle for something in the middle; “It’s complicated.”

He laughs. “It’s always complicated.” I smile politely because I’m not sure what to say in this situation. Micah slaps his shin guards to make sure they’re secure, then he’s up. “Okay, I’m going to go play now."

"Don't get hurt." I cross my arms over my knees. Micah jogs over to the team, slapping one of the boys heartily on the back. I hear loud laughter and can't help but smile.

My cell vibrates in my back pocket. 

**AGATHA** , 3:57 PM

_Where are you?_

**SIMON** , 3:57 PM

_pitch_

_watchin micah and baz_

**AGATHA** , 3:57 PM

_You alone?_

**SIMON** , 3:58 PM

_yea_

_everything all right?_

**AGATHA** , 4:01 PM

 _Yes. Sorry, I'm coming now._

Agatha doesn't text me much. Actually, she doesn't text anybody much. She doesn't respond to text messages, Snapchats, Instagram messaging, voicemails… I only know this because Penelope has complained a handful of times. I don't use my phone much either, except to respond to Penny. Although she seems to have a knack for finding me no matter what. Not like I'm unpredictable anyway. 

"Hey." I look up to see Agatha, ethereal as ever. She's got her hair over her shoulder in one of those fancy braids with the fancy name, tucked shirt, and jeans that go to her waist. She looks like one of those models. But I don't say that because I can practically hear Penelope's voice in my head saying 'that's the male gaze. You're objectifying her, Simon.' or something of the sort. 

"Hey, Agatha." She settles down onto the spot next to me. I wedge my hands between my thighs, looking up when the coach yells something at a player. I think I see Baz smirk. He uses his jersey to wipe his face and I blatantly stare at the exposed bit of stomach. Penelope would tease me relentlessly.

"They're good." I say, jutting my chin to the football team. Agatha plays with her hair in response. 

"Er, I'm kind of awful at emotions and such but if you need to talk…" 

I think that maybe I've said the wrong thing because she's got this blank look in her eyes. She's looking at the boys but not really _seeing_ them. 

Her hand stills in her hair.

"Simon, I don't think I'm happy." Agatha looks at me. I see myself in her eyes. "Being the perfect girl, the perfect girlfriend, perfect daughter. I bloody hate it." God do I understand that. Being with Baz is the only selfish thing I've possibly ever done. I don't do things for me, I do what's _expected_ of me. 

"I'm the prettiest girl, so I'm expected to be the trophy girlfriend to the prettiest boy. That's what everybody thinks. The amount of times I hear people telling me that Basil and I are _perfect_ together and that we're going to get married? I hate it. There's… There's this role that I'm expected to play but I don't want to play it. I want to be my own person. I want to say what I want, date who I want, be who I want. I want to be selfish." 

Agatha looks at me with such desperation. She's searching my eyes for some answers. For solace. I don't know if I can give that to her. Because when she says these things it feels as if she's talking about me as well. Feeling trapped and having a role you're supposed to play -- I've had to live my life the same way. I'm supposed to be somebody amazing. But I don't feel amazing. I feel like every other bloke in school trying to pass the days.

"Be selfish." I tell her with complete honesty. She leans in close and takes my hands in hers. 

"Will you help me? Will you be able to help me learn to live selfishly?" 

"I-- Uh." I'm suddenly very self-conscious. I lean away, but cup her hands in mine. "Agatha, I think that… That's something you have to do for yourself. By yourself. I can't give you what you want." Omitted; I'm falling in love with your fake boyfriend. 

Her smile is sad but understanding. "That's what I like about you, Simon." I bite my lip nervously. I gently set her hands on her lap and scoot back. I know she hadn't technically confessed to me, but it might as well have been one. 

She's looking down at her lap. "I'm going to break up with Basil." She says. "I'm done pretending. Thank you, Simon." 

I don't really understand since I didn't do anything. I nod at her. 

"I feel like I'm being reborn, you know? It… Feels so good. From today onwards I'm going to start living for me and only me." 

"That's really good, Agatha." She smiles and gets to her feet. 

"Thank you for listening to me. Everything feels less rubbish." I'm smiling back. She climbs over the bleachers. "I'll see you around, Simon." She's smiling still. I lift my hand to say good-bye.

Then she's off. I pull my legs up and rest my arms over my knees. Considering not much happens in my life, this is a lot for me to take in. I have half a mind to ignore what just happened, pretend that nothing went down between Agatha and I. Really, nothing _did_ happen. 

I pull at my hair with a frustrated sigh. Oh well. At least practice will be over soon. I'd rather go off with Baz than think about what just happened. Really, I'd rather go off with Baz in general. Over anything. 

"Snow." I whip my head up maybe too eagerly.

"Baz?" 

He's got on his neutral expression again. I frown. 

"Agatha…" He starts. Then he stops. He's searching for something to say. 

"She's all right, if you were worried." 

"No. Not that." 

I wait patiently but I don't think he's going to say anything else. He _tsk's_ and sits down to pull off his cleats. He's got his big sports bag with him. Practice must be over.

"Wait. Are… Are you jealous?" 

If looks could kill I'd be dead a million times over. Baz's eyes bore through me, his eyebrows pressed together and his lips curved down. 

Any normal person would sod off after seeing that. But I don't have a sense of self-preservation. I press on.

I pull myself down onto the row directly behind him. I'd sit next to him but that might look too _gay._

Baz is trying to ignore me. I'm not having it. "I don't like your _girlfriend._ " I tease him. I lean forwards and talk low so only he can hear me. "Rather, I quite like _her_ boyfriend." 

His shoulders tense up. He tries to act normal, shoving his sweaty sports gear into the duffel. 

"What an unfortunate situation for him." Baz says. 

I touch his back. For a second he stills, and I swear an exhale ripples through him. I spread my fingers across his back.

"Unfortunate for me, really. He's a train wreck. Fit as all Hell, but terrible personality."

"What do you want from me, Simon?" His head dips. I can't see his face.

_Everything. All of you. Whatever you can give me. Be my terrible boyfriend, I want you._

I shrug. I don't say any of that. But I don't let him go.

"What the bloody hell am I supposed to do with that answer…" Baz runs a hand through his hair. He seems frustrated. He sounds tense. I think I'm only making it worse.

Bitterly; "You don't know what you're getting yourself into." 

As if I could care. I'm already this far in.

"You don't know what I'm really like." Baz laughs humorlessly. I want to know. I want to know why he hates himself, why he's so aggressive. I want to know what he's really like. I want it all, including the ugly bits he's so adamant about hiding. I need to know everything. I need him. 

" _Simon._ Are you not going to say anything?" He sounds so small. I wish I could take him in my arms right here, right now. But there are people watching. Baz has a reputation. _I_ have a reputation. There's so much on the line right now. I never thought our story would turn into some sort of Shakespearean play. But here we are, inches apart but feeling miles away. 

He’s pulling away from me. 

I shouldn’t let him slip away. But I do. He slides out of my fingertips and my hand drops to the bench. Cool metal meets my knuckles; the warmth from his back is quickly leaving my palms. I try to memorize what he felt like underneath my hand. 

Baz hoists the duffel over his shoulder. I think he’s angry. I’m not very good at knowing what to say, at what comes next. I avoid thinking about the future like it’s the plague. 

“Come home with me.” I say.

Baz looks at me. “No.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> badda bing badda boom. ive been rereading both wayward son and carry on at the same time.   
> im richietozlr on tumblr hmu if u want :^)


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> content warning for implied familial abuse, and later implied sexual content.

I'm at home. Alone. 

Micah dropped me off a few hours ago, mentioning it's unusual that it's just him and I. I would've normally cracked a grin and say something clever, but I wasn't in the mood. I'm still not in the mood. I've been sitting on my bed glaring at the ceiling.

I feel foolish. I feel like a dumb teenager in a dumb coming-of-age flick. I tried to do homework earlier but now my textbook sits unused on the desk. I'm too busy acting like a twat.

My cell vibrates.

**PENELOPE** , 6:37 PM  
_Micah said you were weird._  
_Are you all right?_  
_Sick?_  
_If you die on me I'll never forgive you.  
_ _I'd bring you back to life and hex you forever._

**SIMON** , 6:38 PM  
_im ok_  
_todays weird  
_ _im weird_

**PENELOPE** , 6:38 PM  
_Normally I'd agree with you and move on, but I'm actually worried now.  
__Did something happen?_

"Screwed up the best thing in my life is what happened." I tell my phone. Nothing happens.

**SIMON** , 6:40 PM  
_idk  
_ _dont wanna talk abt it_

**PENELOPE** , 6:40 PM  
_You never want to talk about it, Simon._

**SIMON** , 6:40 PM  
_ya_

**PENELOPE** , 6:41 PM  
_One of these days you're going to go off. You'll just be an emotional wreck and not even know why._

**SIMON** , 6:42 PM  
_ya_

Then I do a very mature thing and decide to ghost her. I'm not in the mood to hear about my lack of coping skills. I already know. My coping skills were: get out of school, go to uni, make it out alive, don't be a disappointment. That's about it. I don't let myself think about my future. If you had asked me fifth year what my future would be, I'd have said _"I don't think I'll make it past sixteen."_ Sometimes I'm shocked that I am still here. Perfectly alive. 

I set my cell on the nightstand, turning it on mute. Penelope can text and call as much as she'd like; I have no intention of answering any time soon. I'll deal with her Monday if need be. But today, I want to lay around in joggers that hardly fit, a shabby old Rugby shirt, and socks that have a few holes in them. I'm going to absolutely sulk over the fact I got rejected.

_"No."_

I can't believe he said no to me. I've been told it before, yeah, but… Not quite like that. It was a solid no, the kind that means end of discussion. The ones where you know you can't talk back or respond. The kinds that kind of makes you feel like a scolded puppy. I guess that means I've buggered off with my tail between my legs. And maybe I have. Maybe I'm too much of a coward to confront Baz. Maybe this is what I deserve after all. The moments with him felt like a dream. It only makes sense that reality is now hitting with the force of a semi. 

I pull my hair in frustration. I could try to do homework but I doubt I'll be able to focus. I could try scrounging around the kitchen looking for something to eat but I haven't got the appetite. I could dick around on my phone but… Well, I don't want to see Penny's messages every three seconds. 

I'm laying flat on my bed with my hands folded over my torso. I'm trying to force myself to think of nothing. Every time I find my thoughts straying I picture a white wall obsolete of contents. But it doesn't work. No matter how many times I try to feign disinterest I can't stop thinking about it. I can't stop thinking of Basil.

I probably shouldn’t be so annoyed with the situation. He wasn’t mine, we weren’t dating. I’ve no idea what he thinks of me other than a shared attraction. In his defence, it isn’t like I’ve been very transparent either. Penelope’s always told me that I should talk and use my words. I’m so sick of hearing those phrases. I’d rather _do._ Actions supposedly speak louder than words. And I’ve always been action driven. It isn’t that I don’t inherently understand my feelings. It’s that I don’t want to deal with them. 

Call it toxic masculinity if you will, but we’ve never been a family of emotions. It’s hard to tell what Father’s thinking behind cold eyes and tightly pursed lips. Maybe if I was raised wearing my heart on my sleeve everything would be much easier. But Mum is just as passive as he is aggressive, and nobody in this household can communicate if our lives depended on it. (Or, I suppose Dad communicates, but it’s more of a factual listen-to-what-I-have-to-say. He talks and people listen. And sometimes it ends up coming home with him. That’s what happened with Mom. She listened to him and followed him to the end of the planet.)

I roll onto my stomach, smothering my face into my pillow. Family, emotions, the future, coping skills; whatever. It’s a lot and I’d rather ignore it and pretend I’ve got my life together. It’s worked in the past, I don’t see why it can’t now.

* * *

I doze off at some point.

And I dream.

I dream that there’s a great big cathedral towering around me, stained glass windows casting the most amazing of kaleidoscopes around me. Brilliant ruby reds, sapphire blues; jewel tones drowning the room. It feels as if I’m in somebody’s poem. The streams of light pouring through the glass seemed as if they were made of solid material, impenetrable. But when I reach out the light effortlessly morphs around my fingers. Just as light should. It's still exceedingly beautiful.

A blood red carpet stretches before me to a dais. On the dais lies a box -- a stone tomb. There's a man laying in peace there, flowers surrounding his body as if he had decided to lay down among them. The light didn't reach the dais. The man is encased in an uncomfortable darkness, contrasting too much against the innocent field of flora. 

I take a step forwards to the dais but the light wraps around me as if to beg me not to go further. 

_"Simon…"_

I whip around. The chapels gone. In front of me lies a brilliant field. Waist-high wildflowers and grass runs rampant up the hillside. Small weeds tickle at my legs, and a cooling breeze snakes through. The field sways as if it's alive. 

_"Simon."_ The voice repeats. This time to my left. When I look, there's a woman whom I've never seen before standing next to me. She's got a relaxed slouch and her surprisingly young hands are folded over a wooden walking stick. She's surveying the fields with me. Her brown scarf and loose hair floats with the breeze and I swear she sways with it too. It's as if _she's_ nature and she had just taken a deep breath. 

She's got this smile on her face. I realize she's crying. I can't think of anything to say, so I only look at her. She rubs her eyes on a frayed pink jumper and sniffs. When she smiles at me, it isn't sad. 

"Simon." 

I jolt awake. 

Mum is standing in the doorway, hand on the side of the frame. She looks at me with surprise. I'm sweating and my chest is heaving as if I've had a bad dream. I probably look more than just a little manic to her.

"Are you all right? Got a fever?" I wave my hand dismissively. My throat’s gone dry and my legs are shaking. 

She slides into my room, hands outstretched. I let her touch me. She fingers some of my curls out of my face and smiles sweetly. She’s too beautiful for this sort of life. She’s too elegant, too grand, for the life she’s chosen here with Dad and I. He’s all beady eyes and frowns, and she’s soft edges and golden silk. I don’t see how I’m related to either of them. I don’t feel as if I really belong to either of them, except for these sparing moments when she takes my face in her hands. There’s this deep love in her blue eyes that’s overwhelming. 

“I’m all right.” I reaffirm. I feel like a little kid when I’m looking up at her like this. 

She smiles at me. “Good.” She brushes away another curl before letting me go. I find myself already missing her motherly touch. “You’ve got a visitor.” My shoulders tense up. I _shouldn’t._ I don’t let people come over-- not when my parents are here. Did Penelope mention coming by? I don’t think that she did. I don’t have any group projects, so it isn’t a poor bloke from class… 

Mum’s looking at me with a smile but I can read what it means; _It’s dangerous to have people here._

She’s right.

I get off my bed to follow her. She leads me down our hallway, down the crickety stairs, and to the living area. 

Maybe Penelope finally snapped and decided to make the thirty minute ride over to make sure I hadn’t died or something. I don’t know how to tell her to nicely sod off. All pleasantries are escaping me right now, but I’m not sure I can chalk it up to just having been rudely awakened.

Could be Micah checking in. He lives less far than Penelope and has a car. But I don’t think he’s so worried that he’d go out of his way to come over. He vaguely knows not to come over. (I think Penelope explained my situation to him. Wouldn’t be the first time she’s told other people’s secrets for them.)

Mum gently ruffles my hair and wanders off. I’m hoping that it’s only her and I tonight. I pull my hair. I avert my gaze from where she exits and look to our visitor.

… Baz?

“Baz?” My hostility peels off way too quickly for my liking. He’s wearing different clothes than earlier. He looks as if he was on the way to some event; button up, fancy pants, shoes that aren’t runners. He’s fit.

He’s pulling at the cuff of his shirt, looking at some photos we have scattered for decoration. My house is drab other than the photos. Baz’s steel eyes size me up. I feel a chill go up my spine. If he’s here to kill me, like some sort of knight-in-shining-armor saving me from my terrible fate, I think I might let him. Wouldn’t be a terrible way to go, I think.

“Why are you-- How did you…” He’s got a cool, trained expression on. I take a breath and try again; “What are you doing here?”

“You told me to come.”

I flush. “Er, yeah, and you told me _‘no’_ as if I was some child.” 

“Am I not allowed to change my mind, Snow?”

“I-- Uh… No, I suppose you _can._ But it’s… Not a good idea to come. Not here.”

Baz’s sharp eyebrows raise.

“Erm. It’s complicated, I. I’m not trying to kick you out, honest! I’m happy that you’re here.”

“You don’t seem like it.” 

I look where Mum wandered off to but I don’t see her. I imagine I look like some sort of scared animal right now to Baz. I wish I was, ‘cause at least animals can escape. “It’s not you. I just live in a… Situation.” 

I think his expression turns into a sort of pity. It’s an expression that Penelope’s given me before. (I had told her about my dad and she had fixed me with that look then said, _“That’s not love, Simon. Nobody’s dad should talk about them or ‘use them’ like that. That wasn’t love.”_ ) I grit my teeth and let my hands aimlessly hover in the air between us. “It’s just a bad idea to be here right now.”

Baz walks towards me. He’s imposing so I, unconsciously, take a step backwards while he’s coming onto me. My palms are inches away from his abdomen. I wish I could touch him freely. “Simon, what’s going on here?”

“Nothing!” I say a little too quickly. “Nothing. Baz, _please._ ” I plead. “You should leave.”

He takes my wrist. “Leave with me.” I shudder.

“I-- I can’t. It isn’t like that.” _Mom needs me._

His free hand comes up to my face. I think I might cry. It’s a lot all at once. It feels as if I’m being kicked while I’m down. I want to tell him to stop but I want more. I want him to tell me how he can rescue me, lifting me into his arms and taking me far away. Maybe we could get a flat with Penny like we’ve always dreamed of. Maybe I’d survive my nineteenth after all. Maybe things would be alright and I’d stop feeling like a puzzle piece that didn’t belong, like a misprint, a mistake, a failure.

The door clicks and I push Baz away from me, gentle but firm. He’s home.

The front door swings open, and father’s shaking an umbrella out in the doorway. He hasn’t noticed the intruder in his home yet, thankfully. (Intruders, maybe. Sometimes I feel like I’m intruding.) He makes a _tsk_ noise then ties it shut, turning to face me. He sees me first and the stress-line in his forehead goes away. But then he takes one look at Baz and his splotchy eyebrows are worrying together, forehead wrinkling up and lips dropping into a frown.

“Sir,” Baz says. I don’t miss the bitterness in his voice. Of course he recognized him. There’s no way Baz _wouldn’t_ recognize the man his family hates. The man who basically blackened his mother’s name. 

“Ah, Basilton… I hadn’t expected company.” He says. He’s uncomfortable. But he’ll put up a good front, because he always does. Dad’s risen to the position that he has for a reason. “Simon, you know how Lucy and I feel about guests.” 

All too well. 

“He was just leaving.” I try to say. Father doesn't take his eyes off of Baz even as he discards his coat and briefcase. They're eyeing each other up, assessing each other, analyzing. Like two predators about to attack, circling one another for an opening; an artery to break, a neck to snap, a heart to rip. I don't know who I'd want to win that.

He smiles at Baz. It's one of those empty smiles that you do to be polite. “Why don't you sit down? Not every day we have a Pitch in our household.” The hairs on the back of my neck rise. I want nothing more than to grab Baz and run. 

But Baz doesn't falter. He sits down and feigns an equal amount of respect. This is a dangerous game that I'm not sure I know how to play. I slowly lower myself into the armchair adjacent to Baz. Dad sits across, ankle resting on his knee. “How has your family been, Basilton? The Grimms still intact?”

I wish I knew the full extent of their conversation. But I don't. All I know is that Father is involved in things normal people shouldn't be involved in, a lot of people dislike him, Mom's family thinks she's dead, and somewhere along the lines Baz's mother died in the fray. (The newspaper said it was a freak fire caused by a gas leak. It was a faux story, but everybody was too scared to reveal the truth.) 

Baz folds his hands and matches dad's relaxed posture. “We're doing well. Impossible to stop a Grimm _or_ a Pitch.”

“Yes, yes… Quite stubborn, you lot.”

“It's one of our many charms.”

Innocently; “Or perhaps one of your fatal flaws.”

Baz's shoulders tense a hair. On the surface level he seems well-composed. But I don't think that composure runs very deeply. I'm thinking of some way to get us out; what would Penny do? Well, actually, Penny wouldn't have even gotten into this kind of situation. She thinks about things twenty steps ahead. This would've been avoided altogether if she were here. 

I chew the tip of my thumb. They're talking still but I've mostly blotted out the conversation. Until my name is said.

“... Since when have you been mates with Simon?”

“We've been involved for awhile now.”

“I don't have to warn you about harming my son in any way, do I?” A threatening smile. As if he gives a damn about my safety.

“Not at all.”

“I’m going to take him up.” I say while hopping up to my feet. I secure a hold on Baz’s arm before either of them can refuse, then I’m pulling Baz up the stairs with me. I’d rather not have the evening end with blood on the floor and secrets spilled haphazardly. I don’t want to hear something I shouldn’t. I don’t want to hear something about Baz that I shouldn’t.

Blood is pumping loudly in my ears, creating a clamouring din that's engulfed me entirely. My vision swims, turning to tunnel, and all I can hear is myself, all I can feel is Baz’s cold hand against mine, and I can only see the door to my bedroom. 

We practically fall into my room. I'm slamming the door shut tightly behind us.

“I'm sorry.” I start but I'm cut off by him taking my face in his hands. 

“... _He's_ your Father?”

“The one and only.”

“Crowley, Snow. I imagined meeting the parents would be a bit different than this.” He's trying to make me feel better.

I quirk a smile. He tosses a look over his shoulder then is backing up. I follow him, still being gently held. The back of his legs hits my bed and he falls onto it. I'm hesitant, so I climb next to him, hesitantly hovering over him. He brushes back some of my hair and I can't help but notice how different it is in comparison to when Mom does it. Maybe that's because I'm in love with this boy. He's beautiful.

His dark hair falls in soft strands across my white sheets. He's underneath me looking vulnerable; pretty steel eyes and sharp eyebrows, a high nose and tanned skin. My eyes are drawn to the birthmark above his lip. I recall kissing it in the pool; kissing _him._

My hand is shaking when I slide my fingers up his cheekbone, following it to his silky hair. I like when he wears it loose. I like him.

“You shouldn't be here.” I tell him truthfully. _With me. In this house. In my bed. Not with_ me.

“I know.” Basil says. His piercing gaze holds me. I'm too enraptured to look away. Not that I ever would. If I could die staring into these eyes I'd consider myself charmed. “You shouldn't be either.”

My heart throbs in my chest. “Don't know where I should be. Where I can be.”

He's got his slender fingers tracing my jawline. I wish he wouldn't look at me like that: like I'm breaking his heart.

“Be with me.” Baz says. He reaches for his collar, and I lean back to watch him undo half his shirt. He has broad shoulders and unmarred skin, and it takes all of my self control to not touch. I'm afraid if I touch him everything will turn out to be an illusion. I hope God would never be so cruel but I've never been on good terms with Him. But if I can selfishly and wholly have Baz like this, then I'd damn well go to church every day in exchange. 

My hands are still shaking, but I'm tossing my jumper off anyway. I don't care to check where it lands. I can't tear my eyes off of Baz. _I'm in love with him._

And I think he might be in love with me.

“Can I?” I ask quietly. His shirt falls off his shoulders. “Can I be with you? Can I have you? Is… Is that okay?”

Baz puts his hands on my hips, steady. My breath catches in my throat at even the lightest touch. “Yes. Be selfish, Simon. Want me.”

“I do.” I whisper.

He pulls me over him. I don't stop him. My hands brace my weight as I hover over him, and I'm trying to look braver than I feel. My arms shake. I hope it isn't noticeable. (Baz turns his head enough to press a kiss against my wrist. It does a number on my heart.) 

I want to kiss him. I want to love him and to be able to show him that I do. 

My voice shakes, “You want this?”

“You can't imagine.”

He's looking at me. He won't reach for me; this is something I've got to do. I lean down so the tips of our noses touch. Baz exhales. I feel it against my face. I feel all of him in this moment.

I kiss him first. 

We stay practically attached the entire time. I think to myself at one point he's going to take the life out of me like this, but he doesn't. He kisses me back with as much fervent and need as I kiss him.

No, not _need._ It's want.

I want him and I don't give a fuck how selfish it is. Family problems and interpersonal relationships be damned, all I care about right now is this boy underneath me. 

The minutes bleed into hours, and we stay like that the entire time. Our combined body heat is smothering but nothing could take me off of him. Nothing can take me away from this moment, because when our bodies are connected and he cranes his neck a certain way (breathless and so fucking hot), I feel invincible. I feel unapologetic. I feel all of the emotions that I'd never been allowed before; selfishness, pleasure, love, lust, happiness, security, _love, so much love._

I don't know how long we spent exploring each other. I don't know how much time has passed between all the kisses, the bites, the touches, the pleasure. Eventually we tuck in to my bed, clothes scattered along my floor. He's lying on his side, I on my back. Baz has his chin tucked against my shoulder. Every once in awhile he'll let out a sated hum and try to nuzzle in closer.

He hadn't fit me as the snuggle type. But his hand is on my bare chest and I've got half my arm tucked under him. It isn't the most comfortable position, but it'll do for now. 

“Baz?”

“Hmm.”

“Did you mean it?” 

He presses his nose into my bicep with a scoff. “You think I let just anybody take me to bed?”

“I s'ppose not.”

“Mm. Prat.” His palm presses down into my chest -- no, my heart, I realize. He's feeling my heartbeat. I wonder if it sounds like I'm having a heart attack.

Baz's bare ankle hooks mine under the covers. I look at this gorgeous boy whom I'm madly in love with. A surge of affection floods over me. 

I'm hearing the rush of blood in my ears again, but this time it's good. 


	7. Chapter 7

I wake up warm with the smell of burnt cedar filling my nose. Consciousness slowly returns to me in pulses, rowsing me from the deep thrall of sleep. My nose is pressed into silky hair and a tanned nape. (There's a hickey a few inches down. I fight the urge to kiss it.) I exhale slowly through my nose, letting the fine hairs on the back of Baz's neck tickle my face. 

We hadn't fallen asleep spooning, but it's how we wake up. His bare back is snug against my chest, his head is leaning into mine, and my arms are secure around him. If I woke up to this every morning I'd be the happiest damned man alive. I close my eyes again and take him in fully. My palm slides down from his waist to his hip and lays to rest there. He's all bone and sharp right angles -- ergo I had expected cuddling to be much harder, but now that we're nestled up I don't know what I was so worried about in the first place.

My fingertips trace the knob of his hip bone, thumb following the curve downwards. He's got muscle from football but it isn't an obnoxious amount. He doesn't look like the blokes you see on TV who are heavily on steroids yet proudly claim they're not, veins bulging and skin stretched over humorously big muscles.

No, Baz has just enough to show he's athletic. And enough to give him a nice V-line that I find myself running my fingers across.

He gently bumps his head into me. I can see he's smiling despite himself; “Handsy. Didn't get enough last night?”

I scoff then press a kiss against his neck. “I did. You're just decently handsome.”

“You're being too modest. I was under the impression that I was ‘bloody gorgeous’ and ‘the most fit’ and ‘hottest guy you've ever seen.’ But, correct my memory if I'm wrong."

“I don't know what you're talkin' about.” Baz playfully slaps my hand off so I retract myself from him. When he stretches his arms I watch the muscles on his back ripple. Blimey.

He pulls himself upright, blankets falling away to expose the rest of him. I blush like a schoolgirl, as if he hadn't shown me all of him just a few hours prior. When he gets up to find his clothes (I think my pants are somehow on my desk. Across the room. I don't really remember throwing them _that_ hard.) I shyly look away and pretend that I'm checking my phone instead. It's definitely because I'm a busy guy and not because I'm embarrassed. Of course.

Lots of missed messages from Penny, mainly. She hadn't left any voicemails so I figure nobody died while I was off-the-grid. I'll skim all 34 of the messages later. I open up Micah's messenger instead because he's easier to handle.

**SIMON** , 11:38 AM

 _hey thanks for the ride last night_  
i am alive tell penny for me  
_had a long night  
everythings ok now tho_

I look at Baz over my phone. He's grabbed one of my shirts off the ground and put it on. While I'm more broad he's longer, so it's loose on the shoulders but if he lifts his arms his lower stomach is exposed. 

My phone vibrates, demanding my immediate attention.

**MICAH** , 11:39 AM

 _no problemo!!_  
 _glad youre ok_  
 _didnt check in bc i knew penelope probably left like 193920 texts_  
and ud tell us if there was a grave life-threatening emergency  
i think

**SIMON** , 11:40 AM

 _yes i'd let you guys know if there was a life-threatening emergency!  
_ _somebody could get hurt :/_

**MICAH** , 11:40 AM

 _youre too heroic and good-deedly for ur own good_  
_if one of the requirements to becoming a saint WASNT that they have to be dead i think youd be one like 20 times over  
_at least

**SIMON** , 11:41 AM

_i don't really want to be canonized. but thanks i think._

A beat. I watch Baz judge the state of my room.

**SIMON** , 11:42 AM

SO uh  
_haha  
_baz came over

**MICAH** , 11:42 AM

_??? like now_

**SIMON** , 11:42 AM

 _no last night_.

**MICAH** , 11:42 AM

_IS HE STILL THERE?_

**SIMON** , 11:43 AM

_maybe so_

Micah sends me a _'BRO'_ with the O dragged out for three messages consecutively. At least I appreciate his enthusiasm. I’m smiling, because whenever I talk to Micah I can’t help but bask in his positive energy. I wonder if it’s how lizards feel when they lay under a heat lamp. 

“You’ve got a stupid look on your face.”

“It’s the human emotion of happiness, commonly expressed through smiling. Not sure if you’ve ever experienced it, though.” I quip back. 

Baz frowns at my innocent smile. He’s crossed the room, and now slides his hand through the bedsheet next to my head. “Think I don’t feel things?” I put my hand on his bare thigh, encouraging him to come closer. He obliges, anchoring his thighs on either side of me. I try not to think how ridiculously hot he looks like this, but it’s proving difficult.

“Hard to say when all you do is scowl at me.”

“I don’t _always_ scowl.” He takes my face in one hand and pushes me aside. I laugh, watching him through the corner of my eye with a smile. He’s got the shadow of a smile too. I like that a lot better than his scowls and sneers. “I smile. Sometimes.”

“Yeah, getting you to smile is like pulling teeth.” I snake my arms around his hips and tug him closer. He leans over me much like I did last night. There’s no desperation this time. It’s gentle and loving. I’m afraid that my heart is going to burst and all my feelings, all the love and happiness, will bleed through my pores for everybody to see. I was vulnerable last night. I let him see everything. I think he’s the only person I’d willingly be vulnerable to.

Baz makes me look at him again. His smile is mostly in his gray eyes; crinkled at the edges and warm. He kisses me this time. I’m practically putty at his fingertips. I don’t mind at all anymore. “You’re such a pain.” He murmurs against my lips. I snicker. 

After a moment of languid kisses and happy sighs, he taps my chest. “As much as I’d love to roll around and kiss all day like a pair of happy boyfriends, I’m going to punch you if you don’t make some sort of food for breakfast.”

I love this boy. Have I mentioned that. I don’t think I’ve said it enough. 

I comply, getting out of bed and putting on mismatched clothes. I’ve got on Penelope’s pullover, I think, hopefully clean underwear, and joggers. Baz doesn’t look impressed. All I do is offer him a shrug.

It’s almost noon, so I know that dad’s out for work. The only person here that we might run into is mom, but she spends most of her days wandering around the house like some kind of ghost. It’s eerie, but she’s my mom and I love her nonetheless. I don’t think she’ll throw any sort of fit about Baz being here; sometimes it doesn’t even look like she sees _me._ (I know there’s something wrong with her. Dad knows too, but he refuses to acknowledge it. He tells me that I’m imagining things and that she’s perfectly fine.) (I think he’s scared.) (I am too.)

I’m clamoring around the kitchen with one hand, the other responding to Micah’s earlier texts.

**SIMON** , 12:01 PM

 _yea  
_ _turns out happiness is real after all because im living a charmed life_

**MICAH** , 12:01 PM

_i wont even ask why ur response took so long_   
_hes hot i’ll give u that_   
_if i liked dudes?_   
_hell yeah  
i do gotta ask tho_

I put coffee to brew per Baz’s request. (Demand.)

**MICAH** , 12:02 PM

_agatha????_

Ah. Right. I look over at Baz. “Did Agatha dump you yet?”

“We aren’t _dating._ I’m _gay._ ”

“You know what I mean, prick.”

“I guess.”

**SIMON** , 12:03 PM

 _oh its fine  
_ _theyre not together_

**MICAH** , 12:03 PM

_cool cool cool_   
_i support you but also it felt kinda dirty knowing yall were sneaking behind her back  
u know_

I type out _‘well he’s_ gay’ before quickly deleting it. That’s not my information to share. Even if I’m relatively new to the whole being queer thing, I know that it’s not for me to tell other people.

**SIMON** , 12:04 PM

 _yea no i got it  
_ _thanks mate_

**MICAH** , 12:04 PM

_just happy that ur happy :)_

Happy is an understatement, I think.

***

"Simon Oliver Salisbury-Snow, you didn't respond to my thirty-two messages because you were busy rolling around in the sheets with _Baz?_ " Penelope's shriek is sharp in my ear. I figured calling would be easier than texting back. But I'm wincing and holding my phone off of my ear. 

"You ignored Bunce?"

"He's still there?! _Simon!_ " I don't get why she's throwing a fit. I put my cell on speaker and hold it between Baz and I. I threw on _The Great British Baking Show_ on the telly while Baz and I decided to take over the living room, so we're comfortably tucked into the couch with fuzzy blankets and coffee. And now, Penelope yelling on the phone.

"What's the problem?" I ask sincerely. Baz gently puts his hand on the back of my neck. I lean into it.

"You've got studies!"

"When have those ever mattered to me?"

"People aren't _allowed in your house._ Especially those of the Pitch kind!" 

"Yeah, we dealt with that."

"You-- I." I can practically see Penelope pinching the bridge of her nose in frustration. I know she's just being careful and being concerned. I appreciate it to a degree. "And Agatha?"

"What about her?"

"You're, I don't know, shagging her boyfriend?" I'm smiling because Penny hardly talks like this. This being 'vulgar' to her. 

"She's not my girlfriend." Baz cuts in, bored. 

"Huh?"

"I'm not dating her. I'm as queer as they come. Ask Snow."

I nod solemnly as if it's grave; "It's true. Might even be permanent." The breath gets knocked out of me when he socks my stomach. I'm smiling still. 

"So, then…" Penelope trails off. She is never at a loss for words. That's another fun thing about having Baz around: him and Penelope are equally as intellectual, so they get into rows with big fancy words sometimes. He calls her by her last name and she huffs in distaste when he's brought up, but I think they've created an odd commodority. I have yet to figure out if it's a good or bad thing.

Baz takes my phone from my hand. "So nothing, Bunce. Now, can I spend time with my _actual_ boyfriend, or are you going to rudely butt into our time some more?"

Boyfriend. _Boyfriend._ Stevie Nicks, he called me his boyfriend. I could probably cry right here. Not only have I kissed, snogged, slept with, and been able to finally express love to the object of my affections, but the fact it's requited? And tenfold? Enough where, of his own volition, he calls me his boyfriend? I hadn't prepared for this. I don't even hear what Penelope says. I'm mystified as I watch him. 

I only know he's hung up on Penelope because he tosses my phone aside. _Boyfriend._

"You're staring." He says. I hear that a lot.

"Boyfriend." I stammer. "You-- you called me your boyfriend." 

"After all of this, it'd be stupid to pretend like we're just screwing around. I've met your crazy dad." He sniffs, thumb swiping over my spine. "We're practically set to be wed."

"Sod off." I grab a handful of blanket and _tug._ I run warm so there isn't any need for me to hoard the blankets. But annoying Baz -- who runs cold, ironically enough -- is more than enough motivation. He's easy when it comes to getting on his nerves; I'm pretty good at figuring out what buttons to press. 

He ignores my pestering in favour of retrieving his half-full mug of coffee. Unsurprisingly, he practically drinks it black. I can't stand the taste. The way it sits in the back of your throat and makes you smell rancid makes me feel like I've got dragon breath. I'm not sure how he makes drinking coffee look attractive, but he manages. A chill runs through my spine and I jolt.

"Does your family not care you were gone all night?"

Baz is watching the screen, lips ghosting the rim of his mug. "No. I'm a big kid, father doesn't need to know where I am all the time. I don't need my hand held." I look at his hand when he says that.

"Did you _say_ you'd be gone?"

"Not all night."

"You just left them?"

"I didn't expect to stay so late." I swear the tips of his ears go pink. I'm blushing too.

"Er… My bad." 

Baz balances the mug on his thigh. He looks at me as if I've said the damndest thing. "I don't regret it at all, Simon Snow. I'd never regret you." I hide my face in my hand, scrubbing at the red flush quickly forming.

"How can-- How… How do you just _say_ that?"

"Trust me, inside I am also shocked that I'm telling you these things. But… I think that perhaps you deserve to be told." He sets the mug on the coffee table. "You've got a good heart. Heart of gold, really. There's this electricity about you that's almost addicting. You draw people in and they get _drunk_ off of you. It's like you're magical. When I spoke to you that first time at that party? I thought you'd suck me in and leave nothing left. You're uncontrollable. Unknown. Like some kind of rogue element."

"You… Like that?"

"I _love_ it. Never would I have thought I'd meet somebody as fucked up as me."

"I've never been wanted before." I tell him with honesty. "I don't think I'm very good at this sort of thing."

"I don't care."

I'm staring again. Sometimes it feels like all I can do is stare. It's what I've always done. I watched him during lecture, during lunchtime, on the pitch -- I've always stared. At my table, in the car, in my arms. He's so striking, so alluring. I feel like Icarus and Baz is the sun. I pray on every possible god out there that this doesn't end in flames.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> early chapter ive been sitting on this for a few days now lol.


	8. Chapter 8

The weekend ends. Baz goes home. My mom looks at me curiously, holds me in her arms, and tells me she loves me.

Monday rolls around too quickly. I wish my weekend with Baz would have lasted forever -- I think he felt the same way. 

I don't get the opportunity to really talk to him until I'm walking him to the field after classes. My hands are shoved deep into my pockets, nails digging up the lint and pocket dust, as the cool air gets cooler. 

"My nose is running." I complain. "Don't know how you guys practice even when it's freezing."

"Running around with a bunch of sweaty guys gets you warmed up very quickly." Baz is teasing me. I roll my eyes. We're both smiling. 

Boyfriend. This is my boyfriend. I'm still giddy about it. He's everything I've dreamed of. I wouldn't want him to ever change. Never. He can he infuriating, and sometimes we argue more than we communicate, and he's pessimistic, but he's _mine._ Not like an object. He chose me. He wants me. And no matter how lousy he is or how awful I am, he _wants_ to be with me. And I want to be with him. 

I plop down onto the bleachers as he starts unlacing his trainers. 

"If it's so cold you don't have to watch every day, Snow."

"Shut up, I have to make sure you're not plotting something." I spread across the bench and shiver when chilly metal hits the small of my back. 

"Oh, that's why you come every day?" 

"Yeah."

"Here I was thinking it's because you liked me."

"No way. What gave you that impression?" He exhales through his nose in a sort of suppressed laugh. I've only recently noticed but he seems happier lately. He smiles more often, actually talks to Penelope, laughs, and isn't afraid to speak up in conversations. There's the smallest, greediest part of me that wants to think it's because of me. Maybe it is. Maybe it's not -- I think, either way, I'd walk across the Atlantic for him to be happy. I close my eyes. Apart from the distant thrum of school activity, it's quiet on the pitch. We've gotten here early so it's the two of us. Baz is lacing up shin guards and cleats and I'm laying next to him. I inch my hand over to lay on his thigh. When he doesn't react, I slide myself halfway across his lap. I press my cheeky grin into his thigh.

"Are you a child?"

"Maybe." I make a _mwah_ and kiss his leg. He thumps my back but doesn't try to throw me off. He easily could; he's stronger than I am. 

"Eww." Micah. He's smiling, bag of football equipment slung over his shoulder. "Nasty, get a room." He sits next to Baz, starting the process of swapping shoes too. I prop my chin on Baz's thigh and look at Micah. The position is kind of awkward and my throat is hurting, but I don't want to move; I love having _any_ contact with Baz. 

"Now you know how I feel whenever you and Penelope are running about." 

Micah barks out a laugh, head swung back. "Yeah, got me there. I won't apologize for being in love." 

_Me too_ , I think to myself. I draw myself off Baz when I hear the incoming chatter of the rest of the team. I'm not ashamed to be seen sprawling across him. But, we haven't discussed PDA or people knowing. (I still casually drape a hand on his thigh possessively. It looks more or less innocent to the outside view.) Micah snaps the elastic on his shin guard and greets the bloke who usually is the goalie. I don't think I know him but I still politely nod and smile. 

A few others peel off the group to drop their belongings at the bleachers -- school bags, books, water bottles. I watch Dev slap Niall's back so hard that I swear _I_ feel it.

Dev comes over when he spots Baz and Niall keeps walking with the rest of the team. I assume they'll be setting up for practise: the team captain has got orange cones and extra balls. Dev ignores it in favour of dropping by.

"All right Micah? Baz?" He's got black hair like all the Grimm-Pitch's do, but unlike Baz, his cousin has brown eyes and a fairer complexion. His hair is in a loose wave in the front, tips of his bangs brushing just past his eyebrows. He has his hair buzzed short otherwise; nothing like Baz's longer hair. The familial resemblance ends there. Dev fixes me with a neutral expression. "You're, uh… The bloke that Micah's girlfriend is friends with, yeah?"

"Simon." I offer. Micah greets Dev cheerfully. 

"Didn't know you lot were _all_ friends." He says, not maliciously. 

"Uh." I say with eloquence.

"Micah is Bunce's boyfriend, and Snow is mine." 

"Oh, he's _Snow."_ Dev says with a new realization in his voice. He looks down at my hand. It's still on Baz's thigh.

"Don't."

"You know me?"

"No he doesn't."

"Of you, yeah."

"Stop." Baz warns. I ignore him.

"Did… Did he say things about me?" 

Dev smirks and adjusts his satchel. I'm feeling like an idiot for smiling so wide.

"You _talked about me?_ " 

"No." Baz's ears are red. I'd jump on him here and now if I could. 

"You like me."

"Shut it." He gets to his feet. He's ignoring me but it's too late. The damage is already done; he did, in fact, find me to be his type. Obviously _now_ I know I'm his type, but I'm thinking about the party. The cigarette resting between his long, spindly fingers. The smoke getting mixed with the smell of teenager, booze, cheap perfume, and weed. I remember his eyes and the way he looked at me. No, checked me out. 

He had gone out deliberately. He didn't need a smoke break. Baz had followed me out. He followed me to talk to me and… And what? Had all of these weeks of emotional foreplay been unnecessary? If I had crowded him against the wooden banister and kissed his neck, would he have caved like he did underneath me, like he did so prettily this weekend? These what-ifs are getting dangerous. 

Baz turns to me, but then he's reaching for something behind me instead. I realize he's pretending to look for something, using it as an excuse to get in my space. 

"Don't you dare let it go to your head." His voice is deep, low so only I can hear. I like when he talks like that. It's hot. 

"Should I let it go somewhere else?" He _tsk's_ but I still see his smirk. He looks down at my mouth. We're both thinking about snogging each other senseless. But he has more self-control than I could ever dream of having. 

"Watch me." He says. 

I almost laugh.

"You're an idiot if you think I'm not always watching you."

That seems to make him proud. He withdraws. I wish I could kiss him good luck. Instead I clench my hands against my jeans and watch the three head to the field, joining their teammates. Dev slings an arm over Baz's shoulder and I smile when I see him visibly stiffen. 

(I do watch him. My eyes are glued to him every pass, every call, every bloody step.)

(We make eye contact during a skirmish and I swear I see a ghost of a smile on his lips.)

***

Surprisingly, we hold hands a lot. It isn't always snogging and wandering touches. Even when we're alone we spend more time holding each other. When Baz holds my hand I feel anchored in reality. I feel in the moment, present. I stop biting the tips of my fingers or fidgeting with my necklace and I relax. It's a comforting feeling. I always feel like I'm somewhere else. Like I'm a million miles away and three seconds from flying off the planet and floating into space. 

But he holds my hand and I feel grounded. His fingers slot next to mine (it hurts if he squeezes my fingers. His are boney.) and our palms meet and I feel alive. 

That's what we're doing now, under the blanket thrown across Penelope, Baz, and I. He's holding my hand, thumb grazing my knuckles. He doesn't even realize he's rubbing his thumb against me. And that's my favorite part. The part of him that subconsciously wants me and wants to touch me.

Baz squeezes my hand and I'm back in the moment.

"I just don't understand." Penelope says.

Agatha is frowning. "It's _magic,_ what is there to understand?"

"It's childish. How did _Joanne_ profit so much off of this? Seven books of the same thing rehashed. Rubbish."

"Movies were great." Micah says through a mouthful of crisps. Penelope scowls at the crumbs. He closes his mouth.

"Anyway, the books are good. Could be better, but there are canon rewrites for a reason."

"A… What?" I say, as if I'm following along with the conversation at all.

Agatha shifts in her position on the recliner. "When somebody rewrites the source material. Like, taking a book and then rewriting it because you didn't like the ending. It's fanfiction."

"Penny, just rewrite _Harry Potter_ then." I grin.

"Would be over in a page. 'Magic isn't real, they all die. The end.'" Micah says and I laugh. Penelope crosses her arms. She looks like a pissed off hippie. 

"I've never consumed any _Harry Potter_ media." Baz inputs. 

"Aren't missing much." I tell him, reaching for Micah's snack stash on the coffee table. The five of us are at Micah's place again. It's been awhile since we all five got together again. It feels nice. Even if Agatha and Penelope are arguing about if _Harry Potter_ is good or not. I couldn't care. I'm between my best friend and my boyfriend on a comfortable couch with an overly fluffy blanket, one hand full of snacks and the other preoccupied with another hand. (Baz holds my left hand, because I'm right-handed and he's left-handed, so we can still function.) 

I tear open a crisp bag with my teeth. 

"Could you be any more of an animal?" Baz. Arsehole.

"Yeah, want me to bite?" I say immediately. We're together often enough where I've been forgetting to watch what I say around everybody else. 

"Get a room." Micah says as Baz shoves me. He let go of my hand but relaxes his arm on the back of the couch. His fingers brush my shoulder. I lean into his side.

Agatha shakes her head and takes the remote, trying to find a movie that we would all like.

She had taken to me accidentally stealing her boyfriend (?) pretty well. I had whined about it to Baz -- I was _worried!_ \-- and he had gotten fed up and told Agatha directly. She had shrugged and said, "Better Simon than any football guys." Which I didn't really get, 'cause all the team is pretty fit. She hesitated but had seemed genuinely happy. She said that nobody else would be able to handle either of us except each other. Then she smiled, put a hand on each of our faces, and gave both of us a small kiss on the cheek. Baz made fun of me for blushing when she walked away. I kicked him. I swear he blushed too.

Micah and Penelope don't mind it. Penelope already knew the extent of how badly I wanted Baz, but Micah didn’t. He never had to listen to me talk about Baz constantly-- Not like Penny did. But he's quickly catching on. Just like how I'm quickly catching on to the extent of how Baz feels about me. The outlook seems good.

Almost every day I get to see all of my friends. Almost every day I get to see Baz. I like the days where it's him and I. I like when we exist together. (One time my legs were across his lap while he was reading and I played games on my phone. We weren't speaking or really doing anything to each other, but it felt so intimate that my heart was pounding in my chest.) 

I _love_ it when I can hang out with all four of them; Penny, Agatha, Micah, _and_ Baz. Dev and Niall sometimes drop by every now and then out of friendliness, but they're mainly part of another clique or off on their own together. I don't really mind them, but I do see Penelope frown at some of Niall's more crude jokes. 

But we five stay together. Agatha, Micah and Baz sometimes are busy -- lacrosse or football, respectively -- but we try to cram all five of us into Micah's car at least once a week. And every weekend I end it with my arms full of the people I love, and I don't think I could ever be happier. 

***

"Lucy tells me you've been around the Pitch boy often." 

"Uh." 

I'm standing in the kitchen barefooted in worn-in boxers and a shirt I'm not sure belongs to me. Dad's at the counter, hand folded around a cup of coffee with a sort of unreadable expression. I knew a confrontation would be inevitable but I wish I had more time to enjoy the peace.

"Uh. Yeah-- Yes." I splutter. I muck up my words sometimes. Usually it acts up more when I'm around him. It seems I'm not spared this time. 

"You have, then?"

I nod. My throat has gone dry. I fumble for a glass of water. I've got my back to him now. 

"I've been hearing the oddest things about you being with him _much_ too often. That family isn't a good one to be so buddy-buddy with. You remember what happened to Natasha, may she rest in peace." 

"What are you getting at?" I stare at the cup as if it's the most interesting thing in the world.

I don't miss his heavy exhale. Through the nose, as if he's trying to maintain his composure. "We have an image to uphold, Simon. You can't go frolicking around with a Pitch boy just because he says the right things. They're unreliable. That family wants ours gone."

 _They want_ you _gone,_ I think to myself. I don't dare to say it out loud.

"Baz isn't like that."

"And you would know?"

"Yes." I look up at him. He looks as if he wants me to tell him I'm joking. "He's--"

"Simon." A warning.

"He's my boyfriend." I finish.

"Are you doing this to spite me?" Dad puts a hand against his temple and rubs in distress. I'm not letting up, though. He can sigh and look as disappointed as much as he damn wants.

"No."

"This isn't some fantasy. You're not going to make this into a _Romeo and Juliet_ story."

"This isn't about you." 

"Excuse me?"

"It's…" My grip on my glass is so tight I'm worried it'll shatter. "This isn't about you. This is about _me._ Don't you care how I feel?"

"You know I didn't mean--"

"I like him. We spend time together and it makes me happy. _He_ makes me happy. We're not plotting to take you down. He doesn't use me for information to deliver to the Families like some sort of messenger boy. I'm with him because I love him, and it has nothing to do with you."

Father is frowning at me. A few months ago I would've done anything to not be on the receiving end of his disappointment. But now? I'd rather be written out of the will than give up the one thing that's mine. 

"You're going to ruin my plans."

I feel like we're talking in circles. He doesn't understand. He never will.

"This is my thing. Not yours." I leave the cup on the counter and leave him standing there.

I've never walked away from him before. 

**SIMON** , 7:18 PM

_lets just run off to america and get hitched in vegas and do crimes_

**BASILTON** , 7:18 PM

 _Hello.  
_ _I thought you were too Lawful Good to be gay and do crimes._

 **SIMON** , 7:19 PM

 _i'm a changed man or smthn_  
_i hate this place_  
_idk just like  
u and aggy can like just buy a sweet beach house in cali and we can all live there and agatha can take photos and penelope can do human rights stuff or whatever _

**BASILTON** , 7:21 PM

 _A well thought of plan._

**SIMON** , 7:21 PM

 _i will fucking throttle u_

**BASILTON** , 7:21 PM

 _What happened?_

**SIMON** , 7:22 PM

 _daddy issues._  
_all "oh hello my son you are ruining my plans for world domination by shagging that pitch boy who im gonna pretend i dont know the name of"_  
_bc everythings abt him i guess_  
_i dont even know what he does for a living or like_  
_anything.  
all i know is mom hates it and people die who shouldn't and there's sketchy shit happening._

 **BASILTON** , 7:25 PM

 _First; David knows? I thought you hadn't come out to your family._  
_Secondly, you've summed it up pretty well.  
Thirdly. Do you need me? _

**SIMON** , 7:26 PM

 _what?  
_ _are you asking me to dramatically run off with you like this is a taylor swift song_

**BASILTON** , 7:27 pm

 _No; I don't know who that is.  
_ _I'm saying that if you need me to get you, I will_. 

**SIMON** , 7:28 PM

_call me?_

As soon as the message says 'delivered' my phone vibrates with an incoming call. I make sure my bedroom door is shut.

"Hi." I say into my phone.

"Hi, love."

I fall onto my bed. Even though my mood is rock bottom, I smile. "Everything is bad."

"Only for now. It won't always be."

"Yeugh, I don't want a pep talk. You're shite at them anyway."

"You're a terror." Baz says. I hear the smile in his voice. I lay on my side and let the phone balance on my ear. I close my eyes and pretend as if I'm in his bed with him.

"How was your day?"

"Fine. Had practise. Micah dropped me off about an hour ago."

"Hot and sweaty. Nice."

"Hardly." 

I bite my fingernail.

"Don't bite." Baz warns. I groan and stop chewing on my thumb.

"I hate you. I miss you." We're nearing the end of the academic year. Baz has been off studying or practising rigorously for the football tournament. I've had to study as well but I haven't been as busy to the extent that he has. I think the last time the five of us were together was over a week and a half ago. Even at lunch somebody would leave early or not be present at all. I was getting lonely. Penelope compared me to a puppy being left alone for the first time. I didn't argue, I just buried my face into her back as she rewrote her notes.

"I miss you too." We both go quiet. I trace my fingers against the pillow and pretend that it's his skin. I miss his touch, even if he always feels like an icicle. I’ve still got my eyes closed, so it’s easy to imagine his tanned skin, well-kept hair, sharp and witty eyes, and the way his lips quirk at the corner when I say something that he likes. 

“Let’s go somewhere.”

“Still on about getting hitched in Vegas?”

“No. Well, yes, but no. I’m serious.” I roll onto my back and press my cell into the side of my face. 

“Can you even drive?”

“That’s irrelevant. Listen, we get a convertible and we drive the coast with the girls and Micah. We could go across all of Europe if we wanted to. Doesn’t that sound great?”

“I’m not fond of the sun.”

“Whatever, you can wear one of Agatha’s sun hats. Just imagine it. Windows rolled down, music blasting. The sun is setting on the horizon and we’re all absolutely losing it to whatever is playing. I have a good road trip playlist, you know. We could pull off on the side of the road when it gets dark and get to properly look at a sky that isn’t covered in light pollution.

Can you imagine that? It’d be so beautiful out there. It’s stupid and gay, but I’d like to see the stars with you.”

He’s quiet. There’s nothing stopping me.

“I think I’d like to see everything with you.” My heart is thrumming against my ribs. It feels as if there’s a bird trying desperately to escape my chest. 

There’s rustling on Baz’s end and what sounds like the clicking of a door, but it’s hard to tell. I put my necklace to my lips nervously.

“Fifteen minutes.” He says. I frown.

“What?”

“Give me fifteen minutes. Do you trust me?”

“Yes.” My reply is almost a little too fast.

“Then, wait for me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you're bothered by the fact that the italics randomly stop working in the texting bits, trust me, i am too. i have no idea why it does that. ao3 said i have no rights.
> 
> quote from my beta while reading: "Like. Simon seemed like the stereotypical B*ttom. At first, it seemed like it. But theyre way more complex" to which i replied "You got bottom-baited"
> 
> hey im always down to get new beta-readers tho if anybodys interested hmu my tumblr is richietozlr


	9. BAZ

I don't know what's gotten into me. Lately I've started doing things that I never would have done before. A few months ago if you had told me I'd be doing _half_ the things I'm doing, I would've laughed.

A list:

  1. Date the son of the man who (I believe) killed my mom.
  2. Have a group of good friends. (And like hanging out with them)
  3. Have a groupchat with said friends.
  4. Break into a community pool at midnight.
  5. Spend the night in somebody's bed.
  6. Be happy.
  7. Have a boyfriend.
  8. Sneak out of my house to go to said boyfriend as if I'm in a John Green book.



Number eight is a work in progress, but, nonetheless, it's happening. 

_"Fifteen minutes."_ I had told him. I told him to wait for me, then I had hung up. I suppose even for me this is overdramatic, but I'd rather have Thespis cringe in his grave. The Grimm-Pitch family has never been a family of low-profiled extras, and I'm not going to be the first to sully our good reputation. 

At least it isn’t midnight. I’m not lugging a boombox to his house to play outside of his window. I have _some_ pride left. Although, I've been going to such lengths for Simon that sometimes I wonder if I do have any pride left. It's maddening. 

What else was I supposed to do when he walked into Dev's TV room like he was meant to be there? All 175 cm, bronze curls, apprehensive smile, _normal_ eyes… Agatha had startled next to me. And I felt the same way. Except that she had had the courage to greet him. All I could do was watch. Pathetic.

I'd always seen him as an annoyance. He had a loud presence, a very alluring presence. Most people spend years trying to hone the craft of grabbing the spotlight, but somehow this boy in grimey trainers does it effortlessly. Flawlessly. I won't say I was jealous. Because it wasn't jealousy. It wasn't craving or envy. He made me feel something… uncomfortable. And I had taken that emotion and shoved it deep down into a neat box with a padlock on the front. Then I took that box and pushed it into the depths. Into the Marianas Trench. Chained down to heavy weights.

Needless to say, I didn't want to have to deal with unnecessary emotions. So I hadn't. 

Until he took me apart piece by piece. He pressed himself against me and had spoken like a poet; talking of supernovae and blackholes and red-hot stars. Snow had broken himself for me and in the process broke me too.

Maybe I always knew this was inevitable. I should hate him -- I _know_ that our family has bad blood. The crimson that flows through his veins is the same as _David_ . The man who killed my mother. The man my family has a heavy vendetta against. Simon's dad. It almost feels like a big cosmic joke, because I can't hate him. For so long I've longed to wring out all of David's bloodline -- there's nothing that would bring me greater satisfaction, _joy,_ than seeing him crumble. (Like he did to my mom.) (My _mother.)_

I think that if it came down to it, Simon could point a gun at me and I'd let him. In fact, I might even help him.

… Pathetic.

I pull myself together. Fifteen minutes is hardly enough time to do anything, let alone go play hero. I've got to focus.

I don't bother touching my hair or clothes for once. (I frighten even myself.) Instead I'm grabbing my phone, wallet, and anything that seems like it'll be relevant. I don't know what I'm doing.

I'm looking at the bowl of keys, hand hovering over the set to Fiona's long discarded pick-up truck. _I don't know what I'm doing._ But my body acts for me and swipes the keys. I doubt anybody will notice they're gone. It's likely nobody will notice my absence as well. I use this to my advantage.

I'm out of the house in five minutes. I don't think ten minutes is nearly enough time, but I'll make it enough. Snow lives in a dingy apartment complex closer to school, while I'm at my family manor. David could afford something much more grand. I'm almost insulted that he's chosen to live like _that_ with all the money he's leeched out of us. 

I almost run three red lights on the way there. I don't think I'd have cared even if I did run them. Not really. There's an itch in my chest that is pulling me towards Snow, and I've ignored it for too long. I don't believe in any sort of fate nor do I engage the idea of soulmates. But I imagine that if the red string of fate were real it’s pull would be akin to this.

I expertly maneuver the dingy pick-up into the tiniest opening at the curb. My phone's ringing before the ignition even turns off.

“Sixteen minutes.” He says when he answers. I'm filled with the simultaneous urge to smother and kiss him. My grip weakens on the steering wheel. 

“Where are you?” I look up at the flat, hoping to see his window.

“My room? Is this the part where I tell you what I’m wearing?” I can’t help but smile. Not like he can see it.

“Look out your window.” I hear rustling on his end. Above a pair of curtains part and I just barely see his face. I don’t miss the pleasant surprise that blooms there. “Remember that roadtrip you were talking about?”

“Are you insane?”

“Possibly.” We’re looking at each other. My heart’s pounding in my chest. I hadn’t stopped to consider the fact he might say no. That wasn’t an option for me. Would he say no? I’m at his house in the middle of the night in a car that’s had much better days, talking about some ideal that’s unrealistic and unattainable. I’m staring at him through the dull glow of his bedroom. “With love's light wings did I o'er-perch these walls; For stony limits cannot hold love out, and what love can do that dares love attempt; therefore thy kinsmen are no let to me.”

“Are you quoting _Romeo and Juliet_ at me?”

“I have night’s cloak to hide me from their sight; and but thou love me, let them find me here.”

“Oh my God.” He’s grinning. I want to kiss him.

“Come here.”

“ _Yeah._ Yes. I’m coming. Don’t leave.” Snow’s voice sounds desperate. I’d never leave him behind. I’m nodding at nobody as he hangs up and leaves the windowsill. I drop my cell onto the middle console and press my knuckles against my lips. I’m not usually impulsive. I can easily blame every single change I’ve gone through on Simon. Because if it isn’t his direct fault, it certainly is because of his influence. I’d been perfectly content hating myself and overworking to death. That would’ve been a nice way to go; to literally stop when I’m dead. But, when your life contains so many new unexpected factors, it’s hard to find an excuse to hate yourself. It’s hard to dream of death after spending the night with good friends and an even better boyfriend. I can’t say I’ve ever felt so alive before. I’ve never been so… Happy. 

The door swings open and my breath catches in my throat. He’s got his backpack slung over a shoulder, curls absolutely flying in the wind, and he’s breathless. The engine sputters back to life as he runs around to the passengers side, flings open the door, and practically launches himself in.

He’s got these shabby fingerless mittens on; threadbare. I doubt they actually keep any part of his hand warm. They’re itchy against my face and his fingers are freezing, but his lips against mine make up for all the unpleasantness tenfold. 

“Hi.” Snow practically whispers. His eyes are closed and he’s smiling. Our noses are brushing together and I can feel his curls against my forehead. I half-smile. 

“Hello.” I reply. He lifts his chin a centimeter and kisses me again. His grin is so dopey that it’s almost difficult to kiss him. I think he’s going to drag me over the console and snog in the front seat, but he does eventually pull back. He tosses his backpack at his feet, clicks in his seatbelt, and lays his hand over mine. My eyes linger on him for a minute.

We drive.

* * * 

Unfortunately, we don’t end up taking the grand trip around Europe. Because it is unreasonable, and that’s much easier said than done. We do drive around aimlessly, though. Simon seems happy enough with this; with his window rolled down, one hand dangling out and one hand on mine, cool nighttime air streaming in. It’s like a scene out of a film. 

We pull into a park. There’s a little lake tucked between some trees. When I park the car he jumps out before the engine even dies.

I watch him slide down the slope and go right up to the edge of the water. I’m worried he’ll jump in fully clothed for a minute, but he doesn’t. He sits on a fallen trunk and stares out over the murky lake. The water ripples with the chilly wind, and the trees sound like they’re whispering as their leaves scrape together. _Shhh…_

I follow him. I’d follow him anywhere. He could lead me into Hell and I’d follow him. It almost terrifies me the extent of which my feelings are. I wonder when I started feeling this intensely? I suppose when I couldn’t get the image of his lips on mine out of my head. That had become a pretty good indication that maybe my attraction to him was past physical. Maybe it was his terrible handwriting. Maybe I looked at his shit notes for Gov and fallen in love with the way he writes his T’s and dots his I’s. Maybe it was seeing him make faces at me across the football pitch. 

Maybe it was the way that he looks like a fairytale hero. Albeit, a slightly damaged one, but a prince charming nonetheless. 

I sit next to him. I can’t shake the feeling that being by his side is an honour.

“What are you thinking about?”

“I don’t know.” Simon’s watching the moon through the trees. I’m watching him. “Life, or something. Like…” His nose scrunches. He can’t formulate the thoughts in his head so he shrugs. I’ve learned it’s best not to push it. 

I press my palms together. I watch a leaf float down onto the lake surface. The water ripples around it acceptingly, then the water is still. 

“I think I got through to him.”

“David?”

“Yeah. I, um. I spoke back to him. And I told him that I’m happy -- that being with you makes me happy. Which is true.” I wordlessly put my hand on his thigh. “Told him that it isn’t about him. That you’re not using me to get revenge.”

“I didn’t know he was your father until recently.”

He laughs. My heart thumps. “Yeah, exactly!” It’s nice to see a smile back on his face.

“Y’know… I really like being with everybody. Penny, Micah, Aggy. And you I _guess_. I like that. I wish it could be like that forever.”

“Why can’t it?”

Simon sniffs. “Dunno. Gut feeling.”

“Aren’t I supposed to be the macabre one?” 

“I ‘suppose.” His heels dig into the mud underneath the tree trunk. It’s gross, but I don’t make a comment on it. “Is it so wrong to want to be happy?”

“What? No, of course not.”

“Why does everybody act like it’s such a bad thing then? Or… Is it that _I’m_ not supposed to be happy?” 

My knees knock into his as I turn to face him. It startles him enough to actually look at me. I lock his gaze with my own and dare him to look away. (He doesn’t, because he knows better.)

“You’re allowed to be happy. You should get to be happy. I’d travel to the ends of the world for you. I’d start a war for you. It wouldn’t be the first time a war was started for a pretty face.” I’m getting heated. We’re alone, so I’ll let him have it one time: a moment of weakness. 

I cup his chin in one hand and keep his attention. His very plain, blue eyes are unreadable for once. It’s odd, because he wears his heart on his sleeve, more often than not. I can only hope that means he’s actually listening and processing what I’m saying.

“You damn well know Penelope and Agatha love you. They want you to be happy.”

I let go of his face. His fingertips edge against my knees -- it’s the only response I’m able to get out of him, apparently.

Until he breaks the silence; “Baz. Is there something else you want to say?”

It’s only been a few months since we’ve started this. Maybe only half of an academic year. Everybody thinks time is fickle, yet time is money. Time is energy. You’re supposed to wait a certain period of time for things. You make plans for the future, because things are too soon. You remember dates and periods and times, and for what? How can we say time isn’t important when it so obviously is? 

There’s supposed to be time before you can tell somebody you love them. I don’t know what that time is. Is it years down the line? Is it first sight, like Hollywood so lovingly likes to portray? Is it cultivated over dozens of years and only when it becomes too much to handle, only then you’re allowed to say it?

We’ve got a grandfather clock in our house. It’s a family artifact. I couldn’t tell you where it’s from, but I’m sure father could date it back centuries. When I was younger I scuffed it, then the same night the minute hand stopped working. I had panicked and assumed it was my fault, but Aunt Fiona had picked me up and winked. _“It’s a’ight kiddo. Thing is old as dirt. Nat didn’t even like the ugly thing.”_ She had said and I watched with childlike wonder when Fiona kicked it. (It started working again.)

I think about time often. About deadlines and dates. How long before the pain of losing your mother goes away? How long do you have to wait before you can let yourself love and be loved?

I look at Simon. I wonder if he’s ever thought about these things before. Does he think about every second that passes? I wonder if he’s waiting for time to heal his pain. Like I am. 

I think about how he spoke of space, and how I’m thinking about time. Space and time. We’re quite the odd duo.

I don’t know what I’m doing. But I think I can let that go for this one instance.

We’re sitting on a tree trunk in the middle of the night. Simon Snow is on my left, a dingy pond in front of me. The wind is whipping through the trees and making the branches dance. The moon is high overhead. The leaf has floated to the centre of the pond. 

I take his hand. He lets me. He’s looking at me with those doe eyes. He has absolutely no idea what he’s doing to me.

“Simon.”

“Yes?”

“You’re a massive idiot. You have awful fashion taste, no tact, and don’t own a comb. Your table manners and speech etiquette are nonexistent, and half the time you stutter yourself into a mess of words.”

“Okay, great.” 

I smile, because he means the world to me.

“But I like that about you. And I like you. Well…” I inhale. “I love you. You deserve to know that. And if there’s anybody out there rooting for your happiness, you damn better believe its me.” 

“Did you really have to start that by insulting me?” He teases.

“Yes.” I reply. Then he takes me by the back of the head and kisses me again. And again. And again. I forget how to breathe between his suffocating heat and my erratic heart rate. I can’t bring myself to care.

The boy I love pauses between kisses. My eyes are barely open at this point and he’s practically over me. “I love you too.” He tells me. I kiss him again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> writing baz's perspective is the single most painful experience.  
> next chapter is last! thank you everybody who has been reading! i'd love to hear your thoughts, drop a comment or message me on tumblr at richietozlr !!


	10. Chapter 10

**PENELOPE** , 3:02 PM  
 _I see that dumb look on your face. I don't like what you're scheming but let me in on it._

 **SIMON** , 3:02 PM  
 _hi!_  
 _im….. not scheming  
this is my face penny_

 **PENELOPE** , 3:03 PM  
 _OMG, I know what your face looks like. You look like you're up to something._

 **SIMON** , 3:03 PM  
 _i'm not!! honest_

I try not to lie to Penelope. It feels _wrong_ and I never get away with it. She always ends up catching on. Sometimes I underestimate how bloody smart she is. 

I peek at her over the top of my phone. She's scowling at me. I smile innocently. She huffs and sets her phone aside to resume watching the TV.

It's surreal to think we're done with our education. (Kinda. There's uni, but for the time being I'm happily ignoring that fact.) We're functional members of society and legal adults now! Agatha was the last to turn 19, so her party was the wildest. Sometimes I still find glitter in my jeans and that was months ago. (Baz and I are already 20).

It's been over a year since I kissed Baz. It's been a year and some weeks since he became my boyfriend. I'm not good at keeping dates and times straight in my head, so whenever somebody asks us how long we've been together I always look at him expectantly. It used to annoy him but now he's used to it.

"Stop wiggling." He says now. I've got my feet in his lap. I have a bad habit of constantly jittering, even when I'm laying down. Penelope said I probably have ADHD and I lovingly reminded her she's not in medical school and has no say on my health, thank you very much. 

I do stop shaking my foot. Baz's arms are resting casually against my shins. We're sharing the couch at the moment -- Penelope took refuge in her favorite loveseat so she wouldn't have to deal with him and I constantly bugging each other. I think it's cute of us but Baz always rolls his eyes and calls me insufferable.

Even after a year of being together we still go at it. We'll fight over dumb things, take the piss, and rough house; never serious. We've never gotten into a real fight. We still touch almost constantly too. I thought me wanting to cling to him was part of the whole "honeymoon phase" thing, but the weeks bled into months and then into a year and it didn't change. There's almost always a part of me that's in contact with Baz at any given moment. (My favorite is when I'm making something on the stove and he gently presses his hand into the small of my back. Sometimes he'll put a kiss against my hair too, but normally it's a sweet hum and smile. I like the domesticity). If he minds he hasn't ever mentioned it. Nor do I think he ever will. The git thrives off of being the center of attention, and, I can't deny that he's commonly the center of _my_ attention. 

We still hold hands a lot. He isn't very fond of hugs, but he will let me drape myself over him. Cuddling sometimes makes me claustrophobic, but we do that too. A lot of kissing. We do that pretty often. But most of the time we're just existing next to each other, two boys in love. That brings me the greatest joy.

We live in a flat, far away from the lives we used to have. Baz had taken me home with him after we said our first ‘I love you’s. We spent the night, then the weekend, and then practically the week. I went to and from school with him, met his family (it was like The Addams Family but if they were all ridiculously hot) and even ate with them. Mr Pitch tried not to mention my dad much. But sometimes he slipped and would talk about him. Saying _the Mage,_ as if dad wasn’t even worth his real name. Nobody calls him David except Baz. Lucy calls him Davy. 

After that week I was more or less passed back and forth between Penelope’s family and his own. Nobody said it, but we all knew there wasn’t anywhere for me to return to. I wouldn’t be greeted with love and concern and relief. If anything, this is ideal for them. I wouldn’t be surprised if they didn’t even realize I’d been gone.

We graduated. We went to another party. I walked into Dev’s TV room and thought back to a few months earlier when seeing Baz sitting had taken my breath away. And then he had come in behind me, kissing my shoulder as he pushed me out of the way, hands full with cups. He sat on the same chair.

“Come here.” He had told me. And I climbed onto his lap and we made out for what felt like hours. We’d been dating for a few months but it felt like years. Oddly enough, it also felt like it had been no time at all. I whispered against his lips that I loved him and he repeated it back to me. We only stopped kissing when Penny kicked the door open. Even then, I had stayed in his arms. Because I was safe, and I was with the people I love, and the people I love don’t care about who I love. (And I love Baz).

The next morning we had woken up as a pile of hungover teenagers. Micah had lipstick marks on his face (Penelope), Penelope’s shirt was halfway unbuttoned, and Agatha had a bruise on her neck. I never asked what the Hell happened. I just shoved my face into Baz’s hair and fell back asleep.

The only thing that’s changed in the year since is that our tolerance for alcohol has increased significantly, Penelope wears dresses sometimes, Baz ties his hair up, and Agatha backpacks across the country. And the flat; we have somewhere to live that is permanent. 

Baz doesn’t need to be here all the time. But I appreciate that he is. Technically, the flat belongs to Penelope and I. But Baz occupies it just as often. My room is more filled with his belongings than my own, yet he refuses to admit he lives here. He spends more time here than he spends at his own actual place. (Which he does have. It looks barren in comparison to our flat). I love it and I know that he does too.

It isn’t a matter of commitment. That’s not an issue. Because, I can’t imagine being with anyone else except him. He’s insufferable and a prick, but his laugh is beautiful and when his hair falls messily in his face in the morning it’s the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen. He’s the prettiest boy I’ve ever seen. And I’m hopelessly in love with him. The best part is that he’s hopelessly in love with me too. 

My hand slides to my neck, touching the necklace there. Before, I always wore a cross. I wasn’t particularly religious, but it was something my family felt very strongly about. A few nights after our graduation, Baz had touched it and asked me about it. He was quiet then snapped it off my neck. He threw it across his bedroom and I watched, miffed. I couldn’t remember the last time I took it off. I don’t know if I ever had.

Then he had rolled out of my arms to go through his dresser. I watched, because I didn’t know what else to do. Then he climbed back into bed and sat next to me.

“Up.” Baz said. I sat up, then realized he was holding something. All I could see clenched in his hand was a necklace chain.

It was a ring; a ring on a necklace. Two of them. One was an onyx black, plain band. The other a rose gold. I picked up the black one and stared at him. He put it on me and in turn I clasped his on. I remember thinking how beautiful the rose gold looked against his bare chest. “I love you.” I had said, putting my hand on his ring. He had smiled. 

We still wear them. I never take mine off and fidget with it often, a habit I could never shed. I wear it tucked under my shirt most days. Baz wears his almost always fully visible. He makes it look good with every outfit. Despite having had them for months every time I catch a glimpse of his ring my heart swells. 

We never said what they mean. To be honest, he could’ve been proposing to me right there and then and I would have had no idea. (It’s unlikely. He calls me his boyfriend still instead of fiance, so I’m pretty sure we’re not there yet) (Scary enough, I don’t know if I’d _mind_ being his fiance).

They’re not engagement rings or chastity rings. There’s nothing bonding us in holy matrimony. We just have them. And I like that. We don’t have to explain them, because _we_ know what they mean. They’re us -- they represent us being together. Some days I think that he’s more rose gold than I am, but I’m too attached to the onyx ring to mention it. On nights when he’s coming undone underneath me I’ll press my lips against the band. It’ll be cold against his warm, heaving chest, and everytime I look at him afterwards he stares as if I’ve hung the moon. 

Baz slides his hand up my bare shin. I blink, clearing the thoughtful haze.

“You’re thinking.” He says.

“I do that, believe it or not.”

“Sounds dangerous for you. I could see the smoke from all the effort.” 

I dig my heel into his thigh. He retaliates by pulling some of my leg hair, so I give in this time. 

Penelope gets up; “Do either of you want some tea or cocoa? I’m craving something warm.” Baz says no at the same time I say cocoa. I know in a couple of minutes he’ll be drinking from my cup anyway, so it doesn’t matter.

When she’s out of the room Baz leans down closer to me. I readjust on the couch to give him space to lay with me. He does, pressed between the back of the couch and my side. It’s cozy.

“All right?” He asks me. Gentle. 

I nod. “Thinkin’ about the past.”

Baz frowns. I smile and slide my fingers to the chain of his necklace. “Hey, it wasn’t all bad. I got you and some pretty good friends out of it.”

“Am I not a pretty good friend?”

“No, you’re an okay friend. Satisfactory. Passing.” I press my lips against his cheek. 

“Guess I will never be a pretty good friend, then.” His voice is light with tease. 

I laugh. “Well, you’re a bit more than a pretty good friend.”

“Am I?”

“I’d say the boyfriend role is pretty high up there.”

“I’m your boyfriend? Why didn’t you tell me? I thought we were just gal pals.” I like this side of him. He has moments where he can be just as silly as the rest of us and so utterly human. It’s beautiful. 

“We can be both.” I suggest. He raises his eyebrows with mock scandalization. He’s about to continue the bit but I kiss him instead. Whatever Baz was about to say I swallow up and leave him breathless. 

His phone starts ringing. When I feel his frown against my lips I try not to laugh. He sits up and answers it. From the sound of it it’s his Aunt Fiona. I don’t bother trying to eavesdrop. I go to help Penny instead.

She’s in the kitchen, strumming her fingers against the counter as she watches the kettle. I poke the middle of her back and she jumps.

“Jesus, Simon. You’re going to give me a heart attack.”

“You’re fine. How are you?” Oh, that’s another funny thing about growing up. Suddenly, emotions and checking-in is important. I never liked talking about feelings, or “communicating”. But when you’re in a household of emotionally stunted people and you’re dating an even more emotionally constipated guy, it’s something you learn to get over. We do this every once in awhile: a check-in. Penelope’s been lonely since Micah moved back to America. She won’t admit it, but I’ve seen the way she looks out the window blankly. She’ll have her fingertips placed against her lips and she’ll be curled up on the seat. She draws in on herself when she gets like this. It’s very un-Penelope. (The first time even Baz noticed. He had mentioned it when we were alone).

The kettle starts to hiss, then Penelope takes it off. I think she’s going to ignore my question, but instead; “I’m all right.” I flatten my palm against her back. _Continue_ , I’m trying to say. She’s been even harder to crack than Baz. “I’m okay. I’ll always be fine.” 

“You sound more like me.”

Penelope frowns deeply and I grin. I lean against the counter next to her. 

“Fine. I miss Micah. I always thought it was enough just knowing he was there -- that, even across the sea, he’s mine. But knowing that he’s over there and I’m over here… I think about him a lot. I put more effort into talking to him, because we got into a fight over that. I’m learning to be a better partner and better friend.” She says this slowly. Calculating. It’s so very like her to be logical about something as illogical as emotions. 

“You love him.” I tell her.

“Yes.” 

She puts her head on my shoulder. I lean down so she doesn’t have to strain. (Penelope’s always been short. Shorter than all of us). “Look at us.” She sighs. I know what she means. We’ve come pretty far in a short amount of time. I guess that’s adulthood. “Two emotionally compromised kids in love.” My hand is fingering the ring through my shirt when she says this.

“I can blame my family, you don’t have an excuse for hating feelings.” Penelope knows I’m right but neither of us say anything about it. 

I press my nose into her hair and exhale quietly. I look over my shoulder to see Baz leaning against the door jamb, fond look in his eyes. I wonder how long he’s been watching our moment. He’s got his arms folded and head against the door frame. When we make eye contact the corner of his mouth quirks up. “Bunce, are you trying to steal my boyfriend?”

She reaches for two mugs, pulling away from me in the process. “Only if you’re trying to steal Micah from me.”

“What if I’m stealing Micah from you?” I ask.

“You couldn’t.” Penelope and Baz say at the same time. My shoulders sag.

“How come!”

“You’re not his type.” Penelope.

“Neither is Baz! Micah is _straight!_ ” 

“Look at him.” I do look at Baz. He’s come over to my side now. I put a hand on his hip. 

“Okay, I guess I get it.” He’s the type of person to make people question their sexuality. He’s like Gal Gadot but instead he’s a bloke and instead of straight girls it’s straight guys. My comparison still stands. Micah’s said so himself that if he wasn’t straight he’d be into Baz. Does he count as my bi awakening? I hadn’t really looked at other guys before. I guess that makes him my sexuality crisis too. I don’t mind. I got a boyfriend out of it.

Penelope passes a now steaming cup of cocoa into my hand. Baz immediately takes it from me. I roll my eyes but let it happen. Because this is normal. The three of us together, living and breathing and existing in the same place? It’s our reality even if it feels like a dream. 

The hand I have against Baz’s hip slides under the hem of his shirt. He’s cold but that isn’t unusual. I’m considering pushing him against the counter and kissing him.

“Simon.”

“Mmh?” I look back at Penelope. So much for that.

“Can I ask you a personal question?”

“It’s weird that you’re asking for permission.” I tell her with honesty. 

She’s steeping her tea. She doesn’t look up even when the steam fogs her cat-eyed glasses. “Have… Have you written home?”

I blink.

Home.

Right. The apartment I lived in for nineteen years. The mother and father I lived with. The hard bed and creaky stairs, barren living room and healthy snacks. Where Baz was my first. Where I’d declared my love for him in front of a vengeful, rejecting father. Home.

But that isn’t my home. Not really. Because home is here with Penny and Baz. In our dingy flat that overlooks a residential street with a tree that taps against the window when it gets windy.

“No.” I say.

“Lucy sent you a letter.” 

I jolt and feel a little sick. That was my one regret about leaving; that I’d be leaving mom with him. (She would hold me sometimes and tell me I was the best thing that ever happened to her. That I was her reason for being alive. She would never answer me when I asked why she stayed with him).

“Oh.” There’s the sound of ceramic on countertop and I feel Baz’s hand against my back. I realize that I’m shaking, now. He pulls me closer to him. I let my back thump against his chest.

Penelope wipes off her glasses and looks at me. It might be the lights but I think her eyes are watering. I hope it’s just the lights. I never want Penny to cry for me. She gestures to a pile of mail on the counter. I see a soft pink envelope among the stack. I immediately know it’s that one. I don’t have to look at the sender’s address to know.   
  


* * *

I don’t touch the letter all day. Penelope heads to bed and Baz falls asleep next to me in our room. But I’m awake because my brain won’t shut off. I can’t stop thinking about it. I can’t stop thinking about what she could’ve written me.

I turn to look at Baz. He’s got his nose pressed against his hand and he’s lying on his side to face me. I touch his hand, ghosting my fingertips against his knuckles. He sleeps like the dead. He could probably sleep through a tsunami, which benefits me since Penelope says I’m like a walking tornado. I try to be quiet in the mornings but the more quiet I seem to try to be, the more noise I seem to be making. After the first few weeks when I realized it didn’t wake up Baz I stopped caring so much.

It makes sliding out of bed easy. I think I’m wearing a pair of his pajama pants, but I’m not sure. Our clothes get mixed up a lot. If it looks new and cared about I assume it’s his, but these are ambiguous in ownership. I pull myself out of the bed and don’t bother putting a shirt on. The only other person in the house is Penny and she’s seen me shirtless more than Baz has (which is a lot). And it isn’t like Baz cares. Because he definitely doesn’t.

I pad into the kitchen and to the stack of mail. I didn’t know that pink could be a dangerous color but the more I look at it the more on edge I feel.

I tear open the envelope.

It’s only one sheet of paper. It’s my mom’s handwriting; fine curves and loops. She writes in cursive. She writes like she does calligraphy. She writes how she looks: Beautiful.

_Simon,_

_I hope you are doing well. I’ve missed you terribly, but I will never blame you for leaving. You’re a brave boy. I envy that. I don’t know where you got that courage from, for in comparison to you I am a coward. Your bravery has inspired me. Davy and I are divorced now. He’s gone. I’ve met the Grimm-Pitch family, they’re very kind. It’s because of them that I was able to find you in the first place. I hope one day our families may meet under proper circumstances. I hope one day you can introduce me to your boyfriend and his family properly. I’d love a family dinner with them. You both deserve that much, at least._

_I’m proud of you. I’m proud of who you’ve become and who you love, and who you’re friends with. Agatha is a wonderful young lady, Penelope will make history, and Micah is so charming. I don’t know enough about Basilton, but… I assume that you’ve made a good choice. And I will always support and love you, my rosebud boy._

_With love,_

_Mom._

I’m not crying. I’m standing there staring at the note that my mom’s written me, rereading it to make sure I remember every word. I fold the letter in half and take it with me back into my bedroom. I place it on the bedside table. My eyes flicker back and forth from the bed and the letter. I feel like I’m making a choice right now. But I’m not sure what the choices are, what the question is, and what’s the correct answer. I crawl back into bed and pull the blankets up. Baz has most of them but I don’t mind. I scoot closer to him while he sleeps.

The next morning Penelope isn’t at the flat. I roll out of bed to Baz sitting on our couch, computer open and eyes narrowed in focus. (He’s like an old man. Seriously. He’s awful with all electronics. It’s like he’s a hermit). 

He looks up at me when I enter, then looks back at his screen. Anybody else would take offense. But I don’t, because he’s just like that. I throw on some toast then head to the living area. I fall heavily onto the spot next to him, directly into his side. I stretch and crack my knuckles. Baz lifts up a hand to mess with my curls but still focuses on his laptop. 

“You hogged all the blankets last night.”

“You knew what you signed up for.”

“You don’t _have_ to sleep here. Y’know, since it’s not your flat.” I squeeze his leg so he knows I’m joking.

“The place would probably burn down if I left you and Bunce alone.” I flip over and rest my head against him. I watch him draft an email. It’s very businessman-like. He’d look good in a business suit. Hm.

I hook my finger through his necklace. “I read my mom’s note last night.” His hand stills, then he snaps his laptop shut. I’m a little surprised when he sets it aside completely.

“I wasn’t going to ask.” 

“I know.”

“You don’t have to talk about it.”

“I want to. I want to tell you.” 

Baz studies me as I slowly draw back and away from him. To our room. I get the letter and come back. He’s still sitting there with his body turned towards me. He hesitates when I hold it out to him.

“I want you to read it.” 

He does.

“Are you going to write back?” 

I hadn’t thought of that. 

“You didn’t consider it, did you.” I shake my head.

“Do you want to write back?” The letter slips from his hands into mine. I engrave my mother’s handwriting into every part of my brain. When I close my eyes I hope to see it behind my eyelids. 

“Yes.” We look at each other for a bit. His eyes are switching back and forth between my own. I don’t know what he’s looking for but I let him have all of me anyway. Because I could never hide anything from him. (I don’t want to hide anything from him). He puts a hand on the back of my neck and sighs. I smile, fond.

“All right, you beautiful catastrophe.”

* * *

_Dear Mom,_

_I miss you too. It feels weird to hear you call me brave when I think that you’re the bravest person I know. And I’m not just saying that ‘cause you’re my mom and I’m biased. I think that I get the bravery and courage from you._

_I never understood why you stayed with him. Not for awhile. I thought you didn’t realize that you deserved better, but now I realize why. You wanted to protect me and that’s the only way you knew how. Even if it meant losing yourself in the process. How could you do such a selfless act and yet call_ me _the brave one? No way._

_Penelope and Baz are doing well. I am too. I think I’d like to properly bring them over and really let you meet them, if that’s alright. I want you to meet my best friends. And I guess my boyfriend. He is that. Kinda weird that you got to meet his family before you get to meet him, but we’re kinda weird too so it tracks. If I could be selfish for a minute, I hope that one day we can all be safe and happy together. That’s all I want. I want to see you smile again and actually occupy a space. I want a home that feels like a home. I want to be a real family and I want you to meet my family -- my friends. If it’s okay… I’d like to visit. I miss you._

_With love,_

_Simon._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you guys so much for reading!! i had a lot of fun writing this, and posting weekly definitely was a good challenge for me. i havent really gotten into writing and posting fanfic for awhile, so the reception i've received being so positive really motivates me ;_;  
> i already have some side projects (theyre all snowbaz haha) that i've been working on here and there, so expect something in the future!


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